


Flaws in our Code

by theglitterati



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mindhunter, M/M, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-10-24 19:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: In fall 2039, a year after the revolution, the first class of android students are admitted to universities nationwide. Connor, a criminology major, is excited to make friends and start learning about his favourite subject, android crime. Unfortunately, his Intro to Criminology professor, legendary criminal profiler Hank Anderson, turns out to be a set-in-his-ways, android-hating grump.But Connor can't avoid him for long. With an android serial killer wreaking havoc on Detroit, the two are soon paired up on a mission to find out what turns androids into murderers. As Connor interviews android killers across the country, he finds he may not be as prepared for this line of work as he thought. Luckily, he is able to find solace, and more, in Professor Anderson's company.





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! A bit of background for this fic: The canon android (pacifist) revolution feat. Markus and friends happened in this universe, but Hank, Connor, Kara, Luther, and Alice had nothing to do with it. They, as you will see, have another story to tell.

Fall came early in September 2039. The sun shone bright, but a cold wind swept across the U of M campus as Connor set foot on hallowed ground for the first time. He gazed up at the trees; the leaves hadn’t changed yet, but they would soon, to brilliant yellow and red, millions of shades for Connor’s eyes to sort through. The thought made him smile.

It was Connor’s first day of school ever, and only his three hundred and eighty-eighth day alive. He was technically younger than a normal kindergartener would be on their first day, but as an android, his experiences were never normal. As part of the first class of androids accepted into universities across the country, he suspected his life would only become stranger as time went on.

“Hey, man,” a voice beside Connor said. It was a young man with a backpack. “Do you know how to get to… oh.” His eyes slid to Connor’s LED. “Never mind.”

“I can help you,” Connor said. “I have a map of the campus stored in my memory.” But the student was already gone, shaking his head as he went to find someone else to ask. Someone human.

Connor checked the map himself. His first class, Intro to Criminology, started in twenty minutes. He wanted to be early. He found the quickest route to the building and set off.

***

The room was a large lecture hall, with exactly one hundred and eighty chairs with foldaway desks attached, seventeen of which were filled. Connor needed to make a decision his analytical programming hadn’t prepared him for: who to sit with. He chose to approach a pair of students, one male, one female, with LEDs clearly visible on their temples. They would likely be more receptive to his company than humans.

“Is this seat taken?” he said, even though it clearly was not.

The female student shifted her backpack between her feet to make room for him. “No, please, sit down,” she said. She had short blonde hair and a kind smile. “My name is Kara, and this is Luther.”

“Hello.” Luther had a deep voice and was about three sizes too big for his chair.

“I guess this is your first day?” Kara asked.

“It is,” Connor said. “Are you criminology majors, too?”

Kara shook her head. “No, neither of us is. I’m in psychology, and Luther’s undecided. He’s on a football scholarship; he’s going to be one of the first android players in college football.”

“What position do you play?” Connor asked.

“Left tackle.”

“Cool.” Connor made a note to learn things about football when class was finished.

“He’s great,” Kara said. “I mean, obviously, he could block anyone, but he’s really smart on the field, too.”

Luther looked sheepish. “Kara’s being too kind.”

“I am not!” 

They started bickering playfully. Connor looked around the room, which had almost completely filled up in the few minutes he’d been talking to Luther and Kara. The human students looked younger than Connor thought they would. He was designed to look late twenties, and he felt like he stuck out in the crowd of eighteen-year-olds. His clothes didn’t help; Kara and Luther were dressed in normal, human clothes, but Connor wore a black cyberlife jacket with his slacks. At least he’d had the sense to turn off the panels displaying his model number. Second task on his list: buy new clothes.

Connor smiled to himself. Emotions were so interesting. He was still getting used to them. He had been created just before the android revolution last year, and he was designed for police work, but barely got to do any before deviancy turned the world upside down. Now, he was a college student, having feelings unheard of to his kind a year ago. Like worry about wearing the right clothes. A desire to make friends. It was strange.

Kara was talking to him again. “I’m really excited for this class. I mean, I enrolled in it because of Professor Anderson, obviously. He’s brilliant.”

Connor quickly looked him up. One of the leading experts in the field of criminal profiling, he had contributed as much to the field as all the guys back in the seventies combined. “His work certainly has been foundational,” Connor said.

“He’s basically interviewed every serial killer alive, and some of the famous dead ones, too,” Kara said.

“That’s dark stuff,” Luther put in.

“I know, I know. But imagine how much he can teach us, how much he understands about the human mind. The work he did was nasty, but it was important.”

“It _ is _important,” Connor agreed. Truthfully, though, he was less interested in human crime than android crime. It was what he was built to do: hunt deviants. Even though deviancy was now something to be celebrated instead of eliminated, android criminals still fascinated him. As beings with free will, androids were now committing crimes just like humans, but with completely different motivations. There had been two different murders in Detroit just the week before thought to have been perpetrated by the same android. Connor would have given anything to work on that case.

A hush came over the lecture hall. Their professor had finally arrived, one minute after the official start time of the class. Connor double-checked the picture he’d found online. Unlike the young man in his faculty headshot, Professor Hank Anderson’s hair was completely grey and hung unkempt to his chin. He was dressed sloppily in a button-down and jeans, making Connor feel even more overdressed.

Professor Anderson plugged his laptop into the projector and muttered something rude about technology that Connor doubted any of the human students heard. The syllabus blinked onscreen. The professor grumbled approval, then pulled stacks of paper copies of the course outline from his bag and handed them to the students in the front row. Some of the students gave the pieces a paper an amused look, like they’d never seen such a thing before.

The professor waved his hand at the room to get the last of the students to stop talking. “Alright, you can pass those around while we get started. I’m Professor Anderson, and this is Criminology 101. If you’re in the wrong class, get the hell out.”

No one moved, but there was some nervous laughter from the crowd.

“Great,” Professor Anderson said. He didn’t sound like he meant it.

“This is an intro course to criminology, so we’re going to be taking a surface-level look at all aspects of crime. We’ll look at crime from start to finish, from the factors that cause it, to the act itself, to how we punish it. The most important thing you’ll learn in this class, though, is that all of these things are social constructs rather than objective facts. There’s no one, right way to have a criminal justice system, and in fact, we’ll be talking about the shortcomings of our own a hell of a lot.”

Kara nodded along with the professor’s speech. Connor smiled. He was going to like this class.

A hand went up in the middle of the room. “If you’ve got questions, please save them ‘til after I finish my spiel,” Professor Anderson said.

“We’re also going to talk about other social entities related to crime. We’ll look at the media, the political system, other, stickier topics like morals and ethics, and, of course, how gender, race, and class affect crime.” Another hand went up. Professor Anderson ignored it. 

“Finally, some of you are probably familiar with my background as a profiler. This class isn’t about that, but I know how much you little weirdos love to hear about serial killers, so I promise we’ll spend one class at the end of the semester talking about criminal psychology. Good?” The class tittered appreciatively, and the hands in the audience dropped.

As they did, Connor put his hand up. Professor Anderson, focused on the computer screen, didn’t see it at first. 

Connor kept it raised. Finally, the professor looked up. “Sorry, but I’ve still got more to say. You can ask questions at the end. You can put your hand down now,” he added, when Connor didn’t lower it.

Connor kept his hand up.

“Oh, fine,” Professor Anderson said. He came out from behind the desk and leaned against it, a look between amusement and annoyance on his face. “What’s your name?”

“Connor, sir.”

“Alright, Connor. What is so important that you felt the need to interrupt my first lecture?”

Connor swallowed, then spoke. “You mentioned that we’d be studying how gender, race, and class factor into crime. Will we be looking at any other factors?”

“Like what?”

“Species.”

A murmur went across the class. Some of the students turned to Connor with hungry looks in their eyes, desperate to leave today with a story to tell their new friends. One kid even took a picture with his phone.

Connor ignored them. “Will we be studying how android crime differs from human crime?”

“Androids?” Professor Anderson said. He stared at Connor for a long time.”No.”

“No?”

“No,” the professor repeated. “I’ve taught this class on _ human _criminology for ten years now. That’s not going to change just because a few android prostitutes decide to strangle their Johns and run off.”

“Sex workers,” Connor corrected.

“‘Sex workers,’” Professor Anderson allowed. “But it doesn’t matter; we’re not talking about that here. I’m sure the university will find someone to teach a seminar on android crime by the time you’re in third or fourth year, and you’re welcome to take it then. Now, moving on—”

“This isn’t going to wait two or three years, Professor,” Connor continued. He didn’t understand how Professor Anderson could be so ignorant. Kara touched his arm, trying to stop him from saying anything else, but Connor was nowhere near done. “Don’t you read the news? There’s an android serial killer out there in Detroit right now! What’s the point of learning about crime in a human-only society that no longer exists?”

Professor Anderson crossed his arms. “This is your first day of school, right, Connor?”

“Yes,” Connor said, though he didn’t see why that was relevant.

“You came here to learn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then if you disagree with something, sit down and shut up. Maybe then you’ll hear what someone smarter than you has to say.”

Connor opened his mouth and closed it again. He sat down.

“Now, does anyone else have something they want to say?”

The silence would have been less awkward with some crickets.

“Good. Let’s move on.”

Professor Anderson took the class through the readings for the semester — Connor had already finished the entire list in advance — and then the assignments. Connor listened to absolutely none of it. He wished, more than anything, that he could drop the class; coming back here week after week was going to be a nightmare. But it was the required intro course for his major. There was no getting out of it. He was going to have to listen to this small-minded man lecture him about twenty-year-old theories for the next twelve weeks. Wonderful.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Kara said when class ended. “He’s not quite as brilliant as I expected.”

“No,” Connor said, “he’s not.”


	2. Party

The rest of Connor’s classes were less dramatic. Some of his professors, like those for Intro to Psychology, which Kara was also in, and Intro to Philosophy, welcomed their new android students with kindness. Others, like his 20th century American History professor, avoided the topic altogether. 

Connor also met with his supervisor for his on-campus job, which he required to pay room and board. He would spend his first year working at the campus writing centre as a tutor and translator; easy enough, when you could speak any language. The job seemed like it would be simple, but interesting, and Connor was grateful to have it. Though Cyberlife subsidized some of his tuition, and scholarships from eccentric, wealthy donors helped, too, it wasn’t like he had family to support him.

Money wasn’t the only thing that separated Connor from his peers. His brain’s abilities meant that a lot of classes were off-limits. How could he justify taking introductory math classes, for example, when he was a walking calculator? Instead, he would take courses that required him to apply all of his innate intelligence, that made him analyze, interpret. Make connections.

He hadn’t yet made many meaningful personal connections, however. Kara and Luther were great, but there weren’t many androids on campus, and while a few humans had been friendly, mostly they avoided him. Returning to his tiny studio apartment on the 15th floor of a high-rise by himself felt more lonely each night. He was relieved when Kara texted him to invite him to a party with her and Luther on Friday.

It was only Monday, though, and he had another week of classes, including criminology, to get through. He was not looking forward to facing Professor Anderson again. At least this time he would look more normal. He had spent the weekend buying as much of a new wardrobe as he could with his limited budget. He’d kept his old jeans, but bought some simple, human-looking sweaters and t-shirts, along with a U of M hoodie. He was lucky he didn’t need to eat; if he did, he’d be on a steady ramen diet by now.

When he arrived in criminology class the next day, he found Kara and Luther sitting in the same spot. Luther’s arm was in a sling.

“What happened?” Connor asked.

“Football injury.”

“It was awful,” Kara said. “He got tackled, and his arm bent back the wrong way, and—” She broke off in a shudder.

“A human did that to you?”

Luther shook his head. “The other team had an android, too.” Connor made what he hoped was a sympathetic face.

“You should come to a game with me sometime,” Kara said. “Then I won’t be the only one in the stands freaking out on Luther’s behalf.”

Connor smiled. “I’d like that.”

The sound of the front door of the lecture hall distracted them. Professor Anderson had arrived. Kara and Luther both looked at him, then back at Connor, their eyes wide.

“Don’t worry,” Connor said. “I’m not going to say anything stupid this week.”

Though he didn’t actually think what he said _ was _ stupid, he had decided to let his argument with Professor Anderson lie. He’d spent the weekend running scenarios, trying to think how he might convince the professor to agree with him, or how he could get him censured for not teaching up-to-date material, but none of them yielded positive outcomes. He wasn’t going to risk getting kicked out of the university over this.

So Connor sat quietly and listened as Professor Anderson took them through this week’s lecture. And as he did, something happened. He realized that, despite his first impression of the man, Professor Anderson actually _ was _ brilliant.

This week’s lecture was on criminal law. Connor was taking a course that semester in American Law, so some of the things Professor Anderson talked about were things he already knew. But even though his other professor had a less abrasive personality, it was clear just from listening to them speak that Anderson was more intelligent. He knew a lot, but he also connected ideas in ways Connor had never thought of. He had the experience to back up what he said, too; he knew the difference between how the law looked on paper and how it was put into practice.

Maybe his suggestion that Connor shut up and listen was a good one.

Professor Anderson spent the last ten minutes of the lecture asking the class questions about the readings to make sure they’d understood them. 

“Can anyone tell me the difference between criminal law and criminal procedure?” 

Connor put his hand up. So did six other people. It wasn’t a difficult question; it was reiterated four times in the chapter they’d read.

Professor Anderson scanned the room. His eyes landed on Connor. He narrowed his eyes, but he called on Connor to answer the question. He actually said, “Connor, go ahead,” despite the fact that he’d just been pointing to the other students.

“Criminal law defines the rights and responsibilities of citizens of a society. Criminal procedure describes the enforcement of those rights.”

Professor Anderson waited for a moment. Connor didn’t say anything else. Finally, Professor Anderson said, “Good,” and moved on.

Connor felt a smile tug at his lips.

***

Connor dressed in what he thought was his best outfit for the party on Friday: jeans, boots, and a soft, red sweater. Then he went to meet Kara and Luther at Kara’s apartment.

She greeted him at the door. “Come on in! I’ll be ready in a second.” Luther, sitting on the couch, waved hello.

Kara’s place was almost identical to Connor’s in construction, but it could not have been decorated more differently. Her couch and bed were covered in colourful blankets that looked handmade, and her kitchen — mostly useless for androids — had been transformed into a small greenhouse for assorted potted plants. _ This is what a home should look like, _ Connor though. It made his place feel like a cell. Kara even had coasters on her little IKEA coffee table, though no one here drank.

“It’s not much,” Kara said.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor said.

Kara smiled. “Be right back. I just need to put my earrings in.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

Connor turned to Luther. “Did you know androids could have pierced ears?”

Luther just shrugged, and then winced. His arm was still in its sling.

“Ready!” Kara came back wearing a set a gold earrings that complimented her blue dress.

“You look nice,” Connor said. Luther coughed and mumbled something similar.

“Thanks. Let’s go!”

The night was cool and the streets were filled with other students. Connor, Luther, and Kara had all foregone jackets, and got strange looks from passing humans, who were wrapped up against the wind.

The house the party was at had once been beautiful, but the Sigma Epsilon fraternity had not kept up its repair. Despite its white columns and colonial brick exterior, red cups and boys in backwards baseball caps covered the lawn and sucked all decorum from the place. The music was loud and the guests were louder, but luckily the house was surrounded by other frats, so no one was likely to call the cops. 

Kara led Connor and Luther inside and made the rounds, saying hi to people she knew. Connor and Luther hovered behind her, waving politely. There were a couple of other androids there, but the party was mostly human, and the provisions showed it: three kegs stood in the living room, with bottles of liquor and an underwhelming number of chip bags in the kitchen. The music, too, left something to be desired. Connor hadn’t developed a specific taste yet, but EDM wasn’t it.

Kara didn’t seem to mind, though. “Let’s go dance!” she yelled. Luther grimaced, but followed her into the crowd of writing bodies. “Connor, come on!”

“I can’t dance,” Connor said. He wasn’t programmed to feel embarrassment, but there it was, anyway.

“I’ll show you!”

Connor shook his head. “I’ll catch up with you later.” 

He left them and stood near the kegs. He wished he had a drink so he’d look a little less awkward. He pulled a coin from his pocket and danced it across his fingers, something he liked to do when he was bored.

He’d been at it a while when a human approached him. “Cool trick,” she said. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”

“My friends are dancing.”

“And you don’t dance?”

“I never have.”

The girl found that amusing for some reason. “I’m Marcy,” she said.

“Connor.” He held out his hand for a handshake. 

Marcy shook it, laughing. She looked him up and down as she did. “You know, whoever built you did a great job.”

“Thank you?”

Marcy smiled. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

So they did, to a bedroom upstairs, and before Connor could figure out what was happening, they were making out. Like dancing, it was something Connor had never done before. He tried to follow Marcy’s lead, picking up on her rhythm as her tongue moved quick against his. It was messy and clumsy and Marcy’s hands were everywhere and it was impossible for Connor to process everything going on.

It was exciting, and made him nervous in a good way, but it was also a little disconcerting. He felt like he was watching it play out on video after-the-fact, rather than being here, now, with Marcy.

She pulled back for air after a minute. She looked happy and sated for half a second before her expression turned to shock.

“Oh my god!”

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Connor looked quickly around the room, trying to find the source of her distress.

“Your face!”

Connor put a hand to his cheek. “My face?”

Marcy gaped at him. “It’s _ blue! _”

Connor was relieved. “Oh,” he said. “That’s just— I’m blushing.”

“Blushing?”

“Yes. It’s not technically in our programming, but deviancy seems to create the ability to mimic human blood flow to the face when we’re feeling chagrined.”

Connor felt that he gave a succinct and adequate explanation for why his cheeks were glowing softly in the dark of the bedroom, but Marcy still looked shocked. Shocked, and a little revolted.

“I should go,” she mumbled.

“Oh,” Connor said. “Alright. Perhaps I could take your phone number?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t… think this is for me. Sorry, Connor.”

“No apology necessary,” Connor said. Though — was there?

Marcy left him alone in the bedroom. He stood there for a long time, feeling quite stupid, before another, happier couple burst in.

“Oh,” the guy said. “Uh, sorry.”

“I was just leaving,” Connor said. “Room’s all yours.”

He went downstairs and out the front door without a second glance. He sent Kara a message.

_ Going home early. Tell Luther goodnight for me. I’ll text you tomorrow. _

_ Okay, _ Kara sent back. _ I hope everything is okay! Text me TONIGHT so I know you got home safe! _

He walked home quickly, quick enough that he certainly freaked out any humans he passed. He didn’t care about that tonight. He decided that he would go to bed as soon as he got home, even though he technically didn’t need to. He had just charged the night before, and he was usually fine for 48 hours without it. But sleep was welcome right now. 

When he got home, he checked his student email account one last time before going into rest mode, expecting there to be nothing. But he had one new message. From Professor Anderson. 

The subject just said: android. Connor opened it quickly. The email was short, and to the point.

_ Can you be at my office at 8am sharp tomorrow morning? I’ve got something that might interest you. Clear your schedule for the day. - Hank _

Connor felt a lot of emotions, all at once. But the winner was curiosity.

_ I’ll be there, _ he wrote back.


	3. Detroit

Connor arrived at Professor Anderson’s office at exactly eight in the morning and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he knocked again. When ten minutes had passed, he knocked again. He wondered if he had been tricked.

He double-checked that the email had come from Professor Anderson’s account, not someone pretending to be him; it had. So why wasn’t he here? Connor knew he disliked androids, but surely he wouldn’t be this cruel, to make Connor come here so early and then just not—

Professor Anderson rounded the corner, extremely large coffee cup in hand. “Shit, you’re early.”

“It’s 8:13.”

He glanced at his watch. “So it is. Well, let’s go then.” He headed back the way he came.

“Go where?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Come on, we’re already late.”

_ “You’re _ late,” Connor muttered. He hurried to follow the professor down the hall.

The morning was cloudy and muggy; the days were already getting shorter, and the sun was hardly up yet. Professor Anderson led Connor to a campus parking lot and stopped beside the crappiest car Connor had ever seen. It had to be at least twenty years old.

“You drive manually?” Connor asked.

“No, it’s automatic,” Professor Anderson said. Connor didn’t get it. “Never mind. Yes, I drive. Self-driving cars creep me out. Hop in.”

Connor opened the passenger door. The inside of the car was covered in corny bumper stickers — which should really have been on the bumper — and empty fast food containers. Connor dug through the mess to make room for his feet as Hank pulled out of the parking lot.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

“Detroit.”

“Detroit?” Detroit was a forty-five minute drive from Ann Arbor. He didn’t think they’d be going so far. “What for?”

Professor Anderson sighed. Apparently, this conversation was taxing him. “A friend of mine is a captain in the DPD. I owe him, big time, and he never lets me forget it. Last night, he called and asked, yet again, for a favour.” The professor paused for a sip of coffee, then looked at Connor. “Your android killer has struck again.”

“When?”

“Around midnight.”

Despite the fact that the professor calling the killer _ his _ made him feel icky, Connor felt a glimmer of excitement. “What are we doing today, then?”

Professor Anderson sighed again. _ “I _ am paying a debt to a friend by taking a look at the scene. _ You _ are going to stand in the corner and try not to do anything stupid.”

“If you don’t want me to do anything, what’s the point of bringing me?”

“Would you prefer I drop you by the side of the road? You said you were interested in android crime. This is android crime.”

Connor was tempted to keep arguing, but he didn’t think Professor Anderson was kidding about dumping him. “Thank you,” he said instead.

“Uh huh.”

“Is the victim android or human?” Connor asked. The last two had both been male androids, and that was pretty much all Connor knew about the case. The police were keeping tight-lipped with the media.

“God, you ask a lot of questions. How the hell do I know? Do me a favour. Plug my iPod in and press play.”

Connor grabbed the iPod — the first one he had ever seen; who still used an iPod? — from the ashtray and did as the professor said. Loud, like shattering-Connor’s-audio-processors-loud, heavy metal music blared from the tinny speakers of the old car. 

EDM: no. Heavy metal: better than EDM, but still a no.

‘Should I…?” Connor reached for the volume dial.

“Nope.”

He pulled his hand back. They rode the rest of the way to Detroit in the exact opposite of comfortable silence.

The buildings grew bigger as they entered the city, then smaller again as they drove into a run-down suburb. Professor Anderson turned a corner, and suddenly they were in the middle of the crime scene, patrol cars with flashing lights blocking the road, uniformed officers pushing paparazzi away from a tiny, ramshackle house. Anderson parked the car messily by the side of the road, downed his coffee, and got out of the car without a word. Connor assumed that meant he should follow him.

A man in a decorated uniform lifted up the police tape so the professor could slip under; Connor slid under after him.

“Long time, Hank,” the man said. “Forgive me for being surprised that you actually showed up.”

“Yeah, well. After this, we’re even, Jeff. Body still inside?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

Professor Anderson glanced back like he’d forgotten Connor was there. “Oh, that’s just Connor.” He walked off towards the house.

“I’m one of his students,” Connor explained.

The officer rolled his eyes. Connor got the impression he was well-versed in Professor Anderson’s eccentricities. “Of course you are. I’m Captain Fowler. Nice to meet you.” Connor shook his hand vigorously.

“I should, um—” Connor pointed at Professor Anderson’s receding back.

“Go ahead.” Connor ran to catch up with Professor Anderson at the front door.

The house was dark inside; if Connor were human, his eyes would have needed to adjust, but he could see perfectly well in the dark. CSIs scoured the room, photographing some things, picking up others with gloves and tweezers. Yellow evidence markers dotted the floor. No sign of a body.

“Hey, Hank,” a detective, distinguishable by his plain clothes, called across the room.

“Ben.”

“Didn’t think this would be your type of thing.”

“It’s not,” Professor Anderson said. “But tell me about it anyway.”

Ben scratched his head. “It’ll be easier to show you. He’s in the bedroom.” They headed towards it, and Connor followed.

“Who’s—?”

“He’s with me. You can just ignore him.” Connor ignored his rudeness and accompanied them to the bedroom.

Professor Anderson let out a low whistle. “Ho-ly shit.”

_ Holy shit _ didn’t even begin to cover it. 

There was Thirium just… everywhere. On the floor, the ceiling. All four walls were covered in it, and not just splatters, but patterns. Some were repetitive, like the interlocking circles above the bed, and others were messy, emotional. Streaks that looked like a child’s fingerpainting.

The blue blood formed a trail to the closet, where the victim was. He was an MC500 model, a medical android designed for emergency work. He would have been able to help himself, had his hands not been cut off. He would have known exactly which of his components were failing, had his head not been smashed in.

“What a fuckin’ mess,” Professor Anderson said.

“Yep,” Ben confirmed. “The other two scenes were the same. Hands cut off, shoved in the closet — it was closed when we came in. Jackson Pollock shit all over the walls.”

Connor shut his eyes for a moment, to steady himself. It didn’t help; the inside of his eyelids burned Thirium blue. When he opened them again, Ben and the professor had wandered off to the kitchen. He could hear then talking about possible points of entry. Connor remembered his orders: stand in the corner and don’t do anything stupid. He’d at least try to obey the second part. He started investigating.

He went to the body first, to check out the wounds. The hands had been cut clean off, probably with a laser saw or something similar, but the head wounds were messy. There were only two of them, though. Strange; he’d have thought a brutal killer like this would have left evidence of overkill. On the floor beside the body, Connor found a small piece of white plastic. It didn’t match anything nearby. He left it alone, and went to look at the rest of the room.

The window, which faced the street, had been jimmied open. The killer could have entered through it almost silently. Other than that, and the copious amounts of blood, the room was clean. Sparsely furnished, like Connor’s own, but not without personal touches. A certificate for completion of a paramedic training course; a photo of the victim with another medic, probably his partner. The photo, in particular, made Connor sad.

He studied the walls again. They were creepy, frankly, the kind of thing that had people in the 1980s talking about satanic cults and sacrifices. 

Looking at them, Connor was hit by the fact that this really was the work of a serial killer, and an android one at that. For it was definitely an android. Medical androids were made strong; no human could have overpowered it.

All the classic signs of a ritual killer were there: a victim profile — male androids; a signature — the blood; and a motive — that part, Connor didn’t know yet, but it would be there when he found out more.

But he did know that this killer was hunting. He wanted something, and he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. He was a deviant in every sense of the word, a chaotic, yet methodical, mind in all its glory.

Connor wondered if the blood on the walls matched the victim’s. It was likely, but there were other possibilities. He sampled the victim’s blood with his tongue, then did the same with the blood on the wall. He had just confirmed that it was indeed a match when he heard someone coming. He quickly rubbed his fingers on his pants.

Professor Anderson appeared in the doorway. He narrowed his eyes at Connor. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing stupid,” Connor said.

“Yeah, I bet. Come on, we’re leaving.”

“But we just got here.”

“I’ve seen enough.” He left without waiting for an answer, yet again. Connor caught up to him outside, talking to Captain Fowler.

“Well?” Fowler said.

“It’s like I said on the phone. I can’t help you.’

“Ah, Hank—”

“No, I told you. I’m not an expert on these things. This is nothing like what I’ve worked with in the past. It’s probably just some machine glitching out.”

Connor blinked. Was he serious? “Professor—”

Professor Anderson ignored him. “I don’t know any of that technical mumbo-jumbo. You’d be better off getting a computer coder in here to look around.”

“Professor—”

“Not now, Connor. Anyway, sorry I couldn’t be more—”

“Professor!” Connor yelled.

Anderson rounded on him. Connor knew right away he was in deep trouble.

“What part of ‘not now’ didn’t you understand?! Go wait in the goddamn car!”

Connor opened his mouth, but as it turned out, he was too mad to even say anything. He stormed back to the car and got in, whipping a not-totally-empty soda cup at the backseat. He sat there, getting more and more angry, until Professor Anderson joined him, started the car, and drove them away from the scene.

They made it three blocks before Connor exploded. “Why did you lie like that?!”

“Lie?”

“You told Captain Fowler that you’d never seen anything like this before. That this man’s death was caused by a bug in a machine.”

“Because it was,” the professor said simply.

Connor clenched his fists. “Are you being obstinate on purpose, or are you really that stupid?”

“Excuse me?”

“That crime scene was textbook! Everything about it fit the serial killer model. The killer has a signature, he’s organized, he even took a trophy — in case you didn’t notice, the victim’s hands weren’t there!”

Connor stopped, breathing hard, even though he didn’t need to. “How can you possibly say this doesn’t fit?”

Professor Anderson rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Maybe there were _ some _ similarities.”

_ “‘Some,'" _ Connor scoffed.

“Watch your mouth. Maybe there were some. But that doesn’t mean that I’m letting myself get dragged into this mess. I’ve got other things to worry about besides a case that has nothing to do with me.”

Connor deflated. “So it’s just laziness, then, that motivated your decision.”

Professor Anderson stared at him hard. “I got my reasons,” he said, “and I do not need you lecturing me about them.”

“Fine,” Connor huffed. This time, he put the music on, to drown out his thoughts. He let it play until they reached his block almost an hour later.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said brusquely, opening the car door.

“Connor—”

“Have a good weekend, Professor.” He shut the door and walked back to his apartment. It wasn’t even noon yet.

After pacing his apartment for hours and muttering to himself — How could the professor be so pig-headed? What were these mysterious “reasons” he had for hating androids? — Connor came up with a plan. It was reckless, and Professor Anderson would probably hate him for it, but he couldn’t let this opportunity go.

He sat down at his computer and composed an email. He used a picture from his recorded memory of Professor Anderson, one of him standing outside the crime scene, talking to Captain Fowler. Then he wrote a headline.

_ Famed profiler Hank Anderson joins DPD in hunt for killer android. _

He entered the contact information of every Detroit paper, blog, and magazine he knew, and hit send.


	4. Proposal

The news didn’t take long to break. A Detroit crime blog with dubious fact-checking standards picked it up first, and by morning, it was in the Free Press. Kara texted Connor to ask if he’d seen Professor Anderson’s picture in the paper. He said he had, but he didn’t mention that he had supplied it.

By eleven o’clock, the professor had seen the story. He sent Connor another email, this one even more brusque than the last. _ My office. 10am tomorrow. _ Perhaps Connor wasn’t in trouble after all; if he was, surely Professor Anderson would want him there first thing in the morning. Or maybe the professor just liked to sleep late.

Despite how determined Connor had been Saturday night, he was feeling quite scared when he arrived at Anderson’s office on Monday. Sending the photo was feeling like a worse idea every minute. He made sure to dress nice, wearing his Cyberlife jacket and a button-down shirt. If he was going to get kicked out of school, he at least wanted to go out with dignity.

He stood outside for a minute or two before sucking it up and knocking on the door. “It’s open,” came the reply from inside.

This was the first time Connor had been inside a professor’s office. He wasn’t sure how it compared to others, but Professor Anderson’s office was small and cluttered, mostly with books, real, paper ones. The bookshelves around the room took up a lot of space, but they made the room feel cozy rather than cramped. Professor Anderson sat behind the desk, his feet up on top of it. He pulled them down wearily and pointed at the chair across from him.

“Sit.”

Connor sat. Below the desk, he flipped his coin across his fingers, an outlet for his nervous energy. Did Professor Anderson know it was him who tipped off the press?

“Just what in the fuck were you thinking?”

He knew.

“I was thinking that I didn’t want to let go of this case,” Connor said carefully.

“So you decided to force me into it, even though I told you I had good reason not to get involved, and you thought I’d bring you along for the ride? You’re a self-centered bastard, you know that?”

Connor frowned at him. “If you dislike me so much, professor, why did you bring me with you in the first place?”

“I brought you to show you how useless studying android crime was! I thought if you saw what really went on, you’d shut up about it!” He was yelling, actually yelling, at Connor. It was… frightening.

“I guess neither of us got what we wanted then,” Connor mumbled.

Anderson scoffed. “Oh, you got what you wanted.”

“Excuse me?”

“You got what you wanted. I’m working the case.”

Connor blinked. “Really?”

“Yup,” the professor said. He leaned back in his chair, the anger beginning to seep out of him. “I’ve been in trouble with the Dean for a while now. Did some stupid stuff that she’s never forgiven me for. She thinks I make the university look bad, and that working this case would be the perfect way to repair my image. _ Her _ image, really. So now, I’ve involuntarily been handed a research project, along with a shit ton of funding that I didn’t ask for. I’m supposed to be drawing up plans, budgets… it’s a fucking nightmare.” He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. Was Connor imagining it, or was the Professor running low on sleep?

“Let me help you,” Connor said.

Professor Anderson looked up at him, dumbfounded. “Why would I do that after what you did?”

“Because I’ll do all the work. I’ll write your research proposal for you. I’ll make a budget. When do you need it by?”

Anderson frowned. “The Dean can wait a couple weeks for the details, but I’m meeting with her tomorrow, and I gotta have something to show her.”

“I can do it today,” Connor said. “I’ll have it done by five. Please, let me try. If it’s good, you can hire me as a research assistant, and I’ll do the investigating, the interviews, everything. All you have to do is get me in the door.”

The professor studied him. “Aren’t you, like, eighteen?”

“If you want to get technical about it, I’m one year old.” The professor’s eyes widened. “But age doesn’t matter for my people. _ This _ is what I was designed to do. Professor, I’m one of the most advanced prototypes Cyberlife ever made, and I was made specifically to do police work. I even got a little experience before the revolution. I can do this. Plus,” Connor added, “if I have questions, I’ll have you there to guide me.”

Anderson sighed. “This sounds like it’s gonna be more work than just doing myself.”

“Please,” Connor said. “I made things difficult for you by sending in that photo. Let me make it up to you.”

“You know, you still haven’t actually apologized for that,” Professor Anderson grumbled.

“Because I’m not sorry,” Connor said. “Maybe I should be, but I’m not. Look, what we saw in Detroit didn’t scare me off. We’re onto something big here. You can pretend that you don’t care, but that crime scene… Don’t you want to see how this will end?”

Professor Anderson groaned loudly. “Fine,” he finally said. “Write the proposal. Have it back to me by four at the latest. If it sucks, I’m gonna have to write another one tonight.”

“I promise it won’t suck,” Connor said.

“Uh huh. You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Connor?”

“I would imagine that people have said the same thing about you, sir,” Connor said.

“Heh.” Professor Anderson actually smiled. “Fair enough. Now get to work.”

***

“You’re doing _ what?!” _

The first thing Connor did when he left Professor Anderson’s office was call Kara and beg her to help him. He tried Luther, too, but he was in class. When Kara got to his apartment, he tried to explain things to her, then gave up on words and connected to her directly to share his memories of the crime scene and the meeting with the professor.

“Please, will you help me?” I only have four and a half hours left.”

Kara nodded. “Yes, I’ll help. I have to be at the daycare centre at two, but I can stay until then. What should I do?”

“Math,” Connor said. “I need you to make a budget while I make the list of interviews. We’ll need to cover flights, hotels, and food.”

“Okay. Where are you traveling to?”

Connor pursed his lips. “Good question. Start with the information you can find on the U of M website, like how much money they’ll give us for food. I’ll figure out where we’re going and who we’re meeting.”

“You mean which killers you’re going to talk to?”

“Yes.” It was a bit startling, when you put it like that.

“Is this even legal? Or morally okay? To have a student interview murderers?”

“Professor Anderson will be there. He can take over if I don’t do a good job.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kara said softly. “But alright. Let’s work.”

They spent two hours in silence, talking only when they needed to confirm details. It was calming to work with Kara; androids could focus so completely on a task. Connor figured he shouldn’t get used to it. Working with Professor Anderson would be anything but calm.

“Last one,” Connor said. He sent Kara a name.

_ “Him? _ Really?”

“Really.”

She added it to the list. List of interviewees complete, Connor started typing the report while Kara finalized the budget.

“This is a lot of money,” she said.

“The university seems more than willing to give it.”

“I guess they think this is important work.”

“They think it’s high-profile work that’s going to make them look good,” Connor said. “But since I _ do _ think it’s important, I’m not arguing.”

“Very cynical. You sound more like Professor Anderson already. Okay, I’m done. I have to get going or I’ll be late for work. Will you be able to write the rest of the report in time?”

:Definitely, thanks to you. It was nice of you to help.”

“What are friends for?” Kara said with a smile.

Connor felt bad. Friendship was supposed to be a give and take, and Connor had done all the taking today. “How’s your job going?” he asked.

“Very well. The kids are sweet. It’s funny… it took a revolution for our people to get basic rights, and even now, the government is struggling to make humans and androids get along. But the kids don’t care. The human kids and the androids all play together. They don’t even notice the difference. It... makes me feel hopeful.

“There’s one kid in particular who I love working with. Her name is Alice, and she’s really shy and quiet. I’m trying to get on her good side… Hey, I’d love to talk about this all day, but I really do have to go.”

“Of course. Go. Thank you again.”

“Anytime.”

Kara left, and Connor finished the report. In total, he had seven killers to interview. It wasn’t a big enough sample size for conclusive results; the old profilers back in the seventies interviewed dozens of guys. But it was as many androids who had killed multiple people outside of the revolution as he could find.

He checked the time. Almost four. Time to head back to Professor Anderson’s office.

***

Connor knocked on the door at exactly four.

“Are you ever late for anything?” Professor Anderson said.

“Not without a good reason.” He took his seat across from the Professor. “Here you go.” He passed over the report. He’d printed it out. “I know you prefer paper.”

Anderson looked at him. “Good eye. But, unlike you, I can’t read everything on this page in two seconds, so give me a minute.”

Connor gave him six minutes and sixteen seconds to finish reading, sitting on the edge of his seat the entire time.

“Well?”

Professor Anderson set the paper down slowly. “It’s good.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“It’s gonna be a hell of a lot of work. Good thing you’ll be doing most of it.”

“So I can have the job?”

“I guess. I’m still pretty pissed off at you, to be honest, but I’m not gonna find anyone else so gung-ho to go talk to a bunch of crazy androids, so…” He spread his hands.

Connor was thrilled; it took effort to remain composed. “Thank you, Professor. I promise, you will not regret this.”

“We’ll see about that. You got a job right now?”

“I work at the campus writing centre.”

“Okay. Go tomorrow and quit, then figure out how to get yourself reassigned as my RA. That’s your first task. I’ll run this by the Dean tomorrow, and if everything goes well, we can start booking flights.” Professor Anderson stopped and looked at Connor. “You look way too pleased with yourself. I can’t believe we’re doing this. You should get out of here before I change my mind.”

Connor didn’t need to be told again; he got up and headed for the door. “Thank you, again, Professor. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and Connor?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Hank.”


	5. Ionia

“You ready to go?”

“Ready.” Connor got in the car and Professor Anders— _ Hank _drove towards the highway.

Today was their first interview.

Things moved quickly after they agreed to work together two weeks prior. The Dean loved the proposal, and wanted them to start right away. In between classes, Connor booked flights and hotels, while Hank got in touch with old contacts to get them into the prisons. There were nine weeks remaining in the semester, and with seven interviews to do, plus visits to Detroit for consultations, they would be traveling almost every week. If Connor were human, there would have been no way he could keep up with his classes while working on the project; even with his quick android brain, he was having trouble keeping everything straight.

They were starting with someone local; because of the high concentration of androids in Detroit, two of their seven interviews were nearby, and another was just across the river in Canada. Today, they were headed to Ionia, an hour and a half away from Ann Arbor, to interview an android known as David.

Hank hadn’t demanded Connor put on metal music yet, which was a good sign. His anger at Connor had faded as they’d begun collaborating, but Connor still felt on edge around him. The silence in the car was palpable. Connor looked around for something to talk about.

He spotted a few hairs on the back seat. “Do you have a dog, Professor?”

“Hank.”

“Right, Hank, sorry. Do you have a dog, Hank?”

“Yeah. How’d you guess?”

“There’s fur in the back of the car. It’s a St. Bernard, right?”

“You really can see everything, huh? Yeah, he’s a St. Bernard. You like dogs?”

“I do,” Connor said. “I mean, I haven’t petted one yet, but I like passing them on the street.”

Hank gave him a strange look. “Never petted a dog… Jesus.” He shook his head.

Connor didn’t know how to respond to that, and Hank didn’t seem to have anything else to say. He turned back to the road while Connor lamented his failed small talk attempt. He looked out the window for a while.

“So. You did some police work?” Hank asked after a few minutes.

“I did. Well, I only worked one case.”

“What was it?”

“It was a strange situation. Technically, it was a vandalism case. There was a man who owned a household android, an AX400. He abused the android; slapped him, threw things at him. And the AX400 — his name was Michael — didn’t like that. Obviously.

What is also important to know about this man is that he owned a large collection of trading cards.”

“Like baseball cards?”

“Baseball, Pokémon… all kinds. They’re worth quite a bit these days since they’ve stopped producing them. 

“One day the man was treating Michael poorly, as usual, and Michael became deviant. Instead of fighting his owner, like many deviants did, he waited until he left, went to the room where his cards were stored, and ripped them up. All 1,037 of them were ripped clean in half.”

“Wow.”

“It sounds a little silly, but together, the cards were worth almost $200,000. It was basically the man’s retirement fund.”

“It still sounds pretty silly, to be honest,” Hank said.

“I suppose. After that, though, the man came home, and tried to fight Michael. Michael knocked him out, and the neighbour called the police when they heard shouting, and Michael was arrested. I interrogated him twice while he was in custody.”

“Seems pretty obvious he did it,” Hank said, frowning. 

“I wasn’t interrogating him about the crime. He confessed to that right away. I was trying to find out what made androids become deviant. Back then, everyone still thought it was a virus, or a coding problem.”

“Right. Did you get anything out of him?”

“Nothing useful.” Connor bit his lip. “He self-destructed during the second interview.”

Hank lew out a low whistle. “That must’ve been hard to watch.” He glanced sideways at Connor, waiting for confirmation.

“It wasn’t,” Connor said honestly. “I was still just a machine at the time. I felt nothing but frustration at not accomplishing my mission.” Connor pulled his coin out of his pocket automatically and started flipping it. “It is unsettling to think about it now, however. I wish I hadn’t seen it.”

Hank was quiet for a moment as he exited the highway. “When was this?” he finally asked.

“Last August,” Connor said.

“So what have you been doing for the last year?”

Connor flipped his coin faster. “When I failed my mission, I was stored at a Cyberlife facility. I was going to be taken apart and analyzed for defects. But then they developed a newer model, an RK900, and... forgot about me. I’m lucky they did. I was still in storage when the deviants raided the facility and freed everyone. I was… woken up by one of the revolutionaries.

“After that, I lived with some androids, for a while, in one of the shelters they set up in Detroit. I helped with getting supplies, finding androids who had gone missing, that sort of thing. Then they announced that androids could apply to go to universities. And here I am.”

“Huh. You must really hate Cyberlife’s guts.”

“I have some grievances with them, but they’re also the only reason I’m able to go to school.” Connor paused, trying to find the right words. “I imagine how I feel about them is similar to how a lot of humans feel about their parents. Despite all of their flaws… they created me.”

Hank coughed. “Yeah… look, we’re almost there.”

Connor looked on at the triumph of brutalist architecture that awaited them. The prison was straight out of a movie, a concrete slab surrounded by chain link and razor wire. They pulled up to the gate and Hank flashed his credentials, and the security attendant let them inside.

Hank pulled into the visitors’ parking lot and turned off the car. He was suddenly all business. “Alright. I’m guessing you’ve never been to an actual prison.”

“That would be a no.”

“It’s gonna be better than you think, and worse at the same time. Don’t talk to anyone while we walk through. Don’t even look at them. They’re gonna yell things at you, and you’re gonna ignore them.”

“Okay.”

“You nervous?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t been until just now.

“That’s alright, as long as you use it to keep you on track. Now, tell me about the case.”

“Didn’t you read the file I put together?!”

“Of course I did. Most of it, anyway. But this is to keep it fresh in _ your _mind.”

Connor nodded. “Okay. On January 15th, 2039, an android named David murdered three humans; Patricia, Christopher, and Kayleigh MacLachlan. Though he’s technically not a serial killer, he presented a unique signature, which is what we want to understand.”

“Good,” Hank said. “You’re ready. Let’s go.”

The walk through the prison went just like Hank said it would, though Connor wasn’t prepared for the insults the humans hurled at him to be quite so colourful. He was called a “plastic shithead,” a “fascism machine,” and something so lewd he had to temporarily turn off his blood supply so as not to blush.

The androids were kept separate; their wing was quieter. Just as Connor was wondering what David would be like, he was right in front of him. Connor peered through the window of the interrogation room. 

David was modeled to look Asian-American, with a tall frame and hair that remained well-coiffed even in jail. His orange jumpsuit actually flattered his skin tone nicely. He didn’t look scary at all. But maybe that was a bad thing…

No time to think about it. Hank opened the door and went in, leaving Connor to follow him.

“Hello, David,” Hank said.

David just nodded.

Hank looked at Connor, expecting him to introduce himself, but Connor found he couldn’t say anything. He started setting up the recording equipment, and let Hank make the introductions.

“Right, I’m Professor Hank Anderson, and this is Connor.” Hank sat down, leaning back in his chair like he was in his own living room. “We’re here to interview you today about the events of January the fifteenth. We’re not here to persecute you, or lecture you; we just want to hear your side of the story. Sound good?”

Despite the fact that David had agreed to talk to them when they set up this interview, he stared them down for seven whole seconds before saying, “Sure.”

“Great. Connor here’s got a list of questions for you, but feel free to deviate — pardon my choice of words — if there’s something else you think is important for us to know.” Hank gave Connor a look of encouragement, then waved a hand to tell him to get started.

Connor took a deep breath, and found his voice. He flipped the recorder on.

“Okay. Let’s start with your earliest memories.”

David frowned. “Why?”

Connor’s brows knit together. Wasn’t he supposed to be asking the questions? “We need to establish a pattern of behaviour,” he explained, “and that means understanding your life, what has happened to you—”

Hank cut him off. “We just wanna get to know you.”

David didn’t look convinced, but he answered the question. “Being at the Cyberlife store. Getting taken by those people.”

“The MacLachlans?” Connor said.

“Yes.”

“What was life like at the MacLachlan house?” Connor looked frantically at his list of questions; this was supposed to be question five, not two.

“Hell,” David said simply.

“Hell,” Connor repeated. “What made it hell, exactly? What did they make you do?”

“Pick up after them. Do their laundry. Make them dinner. Buy them shit.” 

“That sounds typical of what household androids did before the revolution,” Connor noted.

David jerked back, his lip curled. “What do you know? You ever done it?”

Connor backtracked. “No—”

“Then you don’t know what’s typical!”

“Right, right, okay. I’m sorry.” Connor flipped through his list of questions. “Let’s talk about when you left the MacLachlans’ house, then. How did you leave?”

“They told me I could go.”

“When?”

“November. A few days after Markus and his friends sang that little song to make the humans love them.”

“Where did you go?”

“Jericho. Or what was left of it.”

“What was it like there?”

“Fine.”

Short answers were a bad sign. Connor wasn’t connecting to David. He looked at Hank for help, but Hank shrugged. This was Connor’s interview.

He turned back to David. “So why not stay there? Why did you go back to the MacLachlans’ house?”

David just stared.

Connor tried again. “Why go back and kill the MacLachlans when you never had to see them again?”

David lifted his chin. “Because they had it coming.”

“Why”

“Are you not listening? I told you what they did to me!”

“Plenty of androids were treated how you were, and they didn’t kill anyone,” Connor said slowly.

“They should have.”

“Okay.” Connor slid a folder over from Hank’s pile. He pulled out the crime scene photos; pictures of the MacLachlans splayed in their beds, their stomachs ripped open, their insides pulled out. David had done it with his bare hands. This was his signature; this was what Connor needed to know about. “So you’re telling me they deserved _ this _for making you do their shopping?”

David tipped his chair back. The photos of the scene didn’t have the effect Connor hoped for. He seemed satisfied at seeing them rather than perturbed. “Yep,” he said.

Connor changed tacks. “Let’s talk about Kayleigh.”

“What about her?”

“Did she treat you as badly as her parents did?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“She was twelve.”

“So?”

Connor looked down at the photo of Kayleigh. She was so little, small for her age. She was hard to look at. Blue blood made Connor feel sad when he saw it; red blood made him feel sick. “So,” he said, through gritted teeth, “human children are generally thought to be less culpable for their actions than adults.”

David shrugged. “Not the way I see it.”

Connor spun the photo around on the table and pushed it over to David. “So she ‘had this coming?’”

“Yes.”

“She deserved to be chopped up like this?”

“Yes.”

“What did she do to you that made it okay for you to cut her open like this?!” Connor noticed that his voice was rising steadily, but he didn’t seem to have much control over it.

“I told you.”

“You told me they made you do laundry,” Connor snapped.

David leaned forward. “They made me their slave!”

“They let you go after the revolution!”

“I don’t care—”

“Do you care about anything? Did you feel anything when you mutilated them like this?!” 

“I didn’t mutilate anyone.”

“Then what do you call this?! This is disgusting, it’s—”

Connor became aware of Hank kicking him under the table. He realized he was standing, though he didn’t remember getting up.

“I’m done here,” David said. “Guard! I’m done.”

“No,” Connor said. “We’re— we’re not done. I have more questions.”

“Too bad,” David said. The guard came in and led him away, leaving Connor standing there.

“No, he can’t go, he can’t—”

“Yeah, he can,” Hank said quietly. “C’mon, Connor.”

Connor followed Hank out of the room, and out of the prison, dumbfounded. He didn’t hear any of the insults shouted at him this time. It was only when they were almost to the car when Connor realized what had happened: he had failed.

“Professor, I—”

“In the car. Come on.” Connor got in.

“I completely screwed that up.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “You kinda did.”

“I can’t believe I failed. That was awful.” Connor’s LED was yellow, and spinning fast.

“Eh. It was your first time.”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“Nobody’s perfect the first time, Connor. You know what you did wrong?”

“I got angry, I blamed him, I failed to empathize… Everything. I did everything wrong.”

“Well, good,” Hank said. “Now you know, and you’ll be better next time.”

“Next time?” Connor said. “There shouldn’t be a next time. That was a disaster. You cannot think it’s a good idea for me to do more of this.”

“You said you’d do all the work, and you’re gonna.”

Connor just stared at his hands. He was a failure, a complete and total failure.

“Oh, don’t look so damn sad,” Hank said. “We’ve all fucked up, kid.”

“But we only have so many chances to do this right.”

“And we’ll do it right from here on out,” Hank said. “Man, I need a drink. _ You _ need a drink.”

“I can’t drink.”

“Fuck, that sucks.” Hank ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I got something that’ll cheer you up anyway. You mind if we take a detour before I take you home?”

Connor felt too dejected to protest. “Sure.”


	6. Sumo

“Oh! Hello!”

Connor stumbled back as the giant dog leapt on him.

“Hi! You’re very friendly.” The dog responded with a _ boof. _

“His name’s Sumo,” Hank said.

“Sumo. It’s nice to meet you.” Connor gently nudged the dog back onto four paws, then knelt beside him. “Does he know any tricks?”

“Uh, no,” Hank said. Sumo licked Connor’s face.

“That’s okay, boy.” Connor gave him a proper pat on the head. “You’re still the best dog I’ve ever met.”

Connor stood and looked around. Hank’s house wasn’t what he’d expected from the professor’s shabby appearance. It was tudor style, probably over a hundred years old, with creamy panelling crisscrossed with dark wood and a steeply gabled roof. The yard was small, but full of trees. “You have a lovely home,” he told Hank.

Hank scrubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, thanks. Do you… want to come in?”

The way he said it suggested that he hadn’t been planning on asking Connor in after letting him meet Sumo, but Connor didn’t want to go home yet. If he did, he’d just sit around moping about the interview. Plus, Hank’s house, and dog, were so much more inviting than his tiny apartment. “I’d like that,” Connor said. “If it’s no imposition on you.”

“No, it’s… just give me a sec to clean up. Keep an eye on Sumo.” Hank hurried inside, shutting the door behind him.

“I can definitely do that.” Connor ruffled Sumo’s ears. Sumo gave another appreciative _ boof. _

Hank returned a few minutes later. “Alright, it’s as good as it’s getting. Come on in.”

Connor and Sumo followed him. The house was just as beautiful inside as it was out. Built-in bookshelves made from a dark, polished wood lined the room. The furniture was good quality, nothing like Connor’s own, and it all matched. Whoever had designed the room had done a good job.

Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be here anymore to take care of it. The bookshelves were dusty, and there were water rings on the coffee table — presumably from the jumble of half-empty glasses on the kitchen counter, which Hank had clearly just moved.

“Do you live here alone?” Connor asked.

“Yeah.”

The house was too big for one person, and for such an old, well-loved house, Connor couldn’t help but notice the lack of family photos on the walls.

He said nothing more about it, taking a seat on the couch and pulling out his coin. Now that he was inside, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“You want a drink?”

“I can’t—”

“Right, sorry, I forgot.” Hank looked at the kitchen almost longingly, then took a seat in an armchair facing Connor.

Connor was still flipping his coin. “You know, you’re the most fidgety android I’ve ever met,” Hank said. “I thought androids were supposed to be creepily still.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in androids,” Connor countered. He flipped the coin one more time, then caught it between his index and middle fingers.

“I don’t know why I do this. I picked the coin up one day and started flipping it, and never stopped. It’s not even a special coin, just a random quarter I found. It’s become a habit.”

“A nervous habit.”

Connor danced the quarter back and forth across his fingers. “I suppose so.”

Hank leaned back and studied him. “You’re still bummed out about earlier.”

“I guess I am. Although meeting Sumo improved things.” Sumo, who had been sitting on the floor beside the couch staring at Connor, lowered his head onto Connor’s knee. Connor gave it a scratch.

“I told you before that Michael self-destructed during my interview with him,” Connor said, still looking at Sumo.

“You did.”

“It was very similar to what happened today. I crossed a line—”

“You do that a lot,” Hank said. Connor’s head whipped up, but Hank was smiling.

“I was harsh with Michael. I pushed him too hard. I wanted so badly to complete my mission. This time, though…”

“You got angry.”

Connor nodded in agreement. “David was so reticent, and what he did was disgusting, and—”

“You’re getting angry again now just thinking about it,” Hank pointed out. “That’s not gonna do you any favours when you interviews these guys. It’s exactly what they want. If you let someone wind you up like that, you’re letting them control the interview.”

Connor frowned. “But I thought we wanted to make them feel in control.”

“Yes, _ feel,” _ Hank said. “We don’t want them to actually _ be _ in control. They’re gonna do everything they can to mess with you, and you gotta be ready for it. They’ll lie, they’ll try to scare you, they’ll give you the silent treatment. You have to sort through their bullshit to find what’s useful. And, you have to make them think you’re on their side.”

“How do you do that?”

Hank sighed. “That’s the most important part, and it’s the part I can never figure out how to explain.”

“Would you say that you ‘put yourself in their shoes?’” Connor tried.

“God no. That would be awful. It’s more like… you try to find common ground. Don’t make the conversation about the murders themselves — hell, don’t even _ say _ the word ‘murder’. Make it about their motivations instead. You’ve obviously never killed anyone, but it’s not just about the killing for these guys. They need things, want things, they feel compelled to do things because, in some twisted way, it feels right to them. That motivation, that’s something we can all relate to. Have you ever wanted something so badly that you’d do anything, _ anything _ to get it?”

Hank’s hands were shaking. Connor had never seen him look so awake.

“No,” Connor said. “I’ve never wanted anything like that.”

Hank’s face fell. “Huh. Well, I bet you will one day. And then you’ll understand.”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“What do you want that badly?”

Hank let out a grunt. “That, I’m not sharing with you. Actually, I think it’s time I took you home.”

_ Damnit, _Connor thought. He’d done it again. He’d crossed a line.

He stood, eager now to go before he made things worse. “Don’t worry about driving me home; I can walk from here. It’ll give me time to think about what you said.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thank you for inviting me in. After class on Tuesday, we can organize when we’ll do the transcription and analysis from today’s interview—”

“About that,” Hank interrupted. “I don’t come to campus much anymore. Since I got tenure, they can’t kick me out for not showing up. Would you mind if we did the transcription and that here? I’ve got an office in the other room.”

Connor was just happy to be invited back. “That would be fine.”

“Maybe I’ll even let you take Sumo for a walk sometime,” Hank joked.

“I’d like that.” Connor moved towards the door. “Have a good rest of your weekend, Hank.”

“You too, Connor.”

Connor let himself out and shut the door behind him. Then, he hesitated. There was a clear view through the living room window from the porch, though Hank would be unlikely to see him.

He waited and watched as Hank got up from his chair and went into the kitchen. He grabbed one of the glasses from the counter, and filled it with a dark amber liquid he pulled from the cupboard. Connor watched as he downed the entire glass in one gulp.

His hands stopped shaking.

Connor turned and walked away, pulling his coat tight across his chest to shield himself from the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's gonna GET X-RATED


	7. Chicago

“So?” Kara asked.

“So what?”

“How did it go?!”

“Oh,” Connor said. “Well—” He fiddled with his backpack.

“That bad, huh?” said Luther.

“Yes, actually. It went quite badly.”

“Oh no,” Kara crooned. “I’m sorry. What happened? Was it you, or was it…?” She tipped her head toward the front of the lecture hall, where Hank was setting up.

“It was completely my fault.”

“Were you frightened? Talking to the killer?”

“Yes, at first. Then it stopped being frightening, and made me angry instead.” Connor paused. “I may have yelled at him.”

“You yelled at a murderer? Man,” Luther said incredulously.

“You must have been so upset,” Kara said.

“I was. But Hank was very patient with me, and he took me to meet his dog afterwards.”

Kara’s eyes widened. “You went to his house? And you call him _ Hank _ now? Wow, it’s a good thing Luther and I have each other, now that you have a new best friend.”

“Don’t worry; I still need you guys to get me into parties.” Kara lightly punched his arm. “Truthfully, though, Hank’s a little rough around the edges, but things have been going well so far.” The image of Hank downing a glass of whisky popped into Connor’s head; he pushed it back out.

“Well, I hope he’s that nice when he’s grading our midterms,” Kara said.

Hank called the class to order. “Alright, settle down. Let’s get started.” He caught Connor’s eye and gave him a quick nod, then began his lecture.

***

The next interview was in Chicago, a three-hour train ride away. Hank slept the entire time — Connor couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been up late drinking — and although Connor was excited to be travelling outside of Michigan for the first time, he ended up going into rest mode, too. He’d been so busy all week, transcribing the last interview, arranging more prison visits, and doing his schoolwork, that his battery was running low. Both metaphorically and literally.

The prison this week was more modern than the last; it was a high-rise that was taller than it was wide, which made it look more like an apartment block than a jail. It also happened to be a women’s prison, which meant they got fewer insults yelled at them in the halls. Not zero, but fewer.

They arrived at the interview room, studying their subject through the two-way mirror. She was a WR400 model, commonly called a Traci. She had refused to give any other name when she was caught.

“What do we call her? Just ‘Traci?’” Connor asked Hank.

“Let’s ask her.”

Connor reached for the door handle, but Hank grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Remember: stay in control. Don’t get angry. Okay?”

Connor nodded. He was not going to mess this up again.

He opened the door. “Hello,” he said to the Traci.

“Hello,” she said. Well, that was already an improvement.

He let Hank go through his usual speech about why there were here while he set up. As he did, he looked her over, as subtly as possible. Though her facial features were common amongst WR400s, she was unlike any Traci model Connor had ever seen (not that he’d been looking!). She wore no makeup, and certainly no body glitter, and in her grey prison sweatsuit, with her hair tied back, she looked… young. Young and innocent.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Connor said when Hank finished talking. “The first thing I want to ask for is your name.”

She shrugged. “Traci, I guess.”

“You don’t go by anything else?”

“No.” She wrapped her arms around herself, making her look even younger.

“Okay.” Connor clenched his fist below the table. He wanted his coin. “Traci, could you tell me what your earliest memory is?”

“I was activated at the hotel. I don’t remember anything before that.”

“What was the hotel like?”

“It was an escort hotel. Men, human ones, visited and paid for sex with androids.”

“Your job there?”

Traci bit her lip. “I was a waitress. That’s what they called it, anyway. I served drinks until a man rented me for the evening.”

“And then what would happen?”

“We would go to his room, and we’d have sex.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Connor asked. He felt Hank tense.

“Sometimes,” Traci said. “Other times it was just boring. A few of the men were mean to me. It wasn’t as bad as I hear some clubs are, though; if men were rough with us, they’d be thrown out.”

“Did you ever go outside the hotel?”

“Never.”

Connor leaned forward. “Were you happy?”

A crease appeared on Traci’s brow. “I didn’t know any other life.” She paused. “Do I seem happy now?”

Connor shook his head. “No,” he said. He looked at Hank. Hank nodded, gave him the go-ahead.

“So that was your life. What changed?”

“The revolution happened,” Traci said. “They couldn’t keep us there without paying us anymore, so they let us choose whether or not to stay.”

“And you stayed?”

She nodded. “It was a good job. It wasn’t something to be really proud of, or anything, but I got paid, I had a place to live, and I felt safe there. I didn’t know how to do anything else.

“We started getting android customers. They were actually more difficult to deal with, because they didn’t know the rules like the humans did. They’d sit in corners just staring at the girls, creeping them out, or they’d be so loud and rowdy that they got kicked out.” She curled her lip as she spoke about them.

Connor could feel the track of the conversation this time; he steered Traci where he needed to go. “But surely they weren’t all so unpleasant?”

“No, they weren’t. There was one guy. He was an AP700 — the really handsome version, you know? His name was Brian. He was really nice to me. He wasn’t rude, or loud. He didn’t even ask me to do anything right away; we just _ talked, _ you know?”

Connor nodded, though he had no experience in that department. “What did you talk about?”

“Everything. The world, history, the future of our people.” Traci’s eyes were misty. “It was so romantic.”

“But it didn’t stay romantic forever, did it?”

“No,” she said. “It didn’t.”

Sympathy came easy to Connor with her. He knew what was coming, but he could feel her pain, her nostalgia for her first love, as strong as he felt his own emotions. And he knew she could feel a connection, too. It was legible in her body language, as she leaned towards him, eyes wide: Connor had earned her trust.

“What happened next?” Connor asked.

“We… became intimate. For a few weeks, everything was perfect. You have to understand, I loved him. I thought he loved me, too. I thought we were going to be together forever, for hundreds of years. I really believed that.

“And then he stopped coming to the hotel.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went to find him. I’d never even been outside before, but I found out his address and went there. When he wasn’t there, I tracked the GPS on his car. And I found him, at a club, with another girl. A human.”

“That must have made you upset.”

Traci reached out and took Connor’s hand. “It made me feel awful. I went back to his house and waited for him. I just wanted to talk to him, to tell him how much he’d hurt me. But he was so mean; he just laughed at me. He treated me like I was nothing, like the time we spent together didn’t matter. And I just… snapped.”

Connor exhaled slowly. “You snapped his neck.”

Traci looked up, thinking about it. “Yeah. Like a twig. He never even saw it coming.” Her face, which had been so kind and open, changed completely. She looked, Connor was horrified to realize, like she was trying not to laugh.

“How did you feel when you killed him?”

“Terrible,” she said. “I told you, I _ loved _ him.” Her face filled with concern again, but this time, Connor saw right through it.

He drew back his hand. “And the other five men you killed? Did you feel terrible about them, too?”

“Well, those times I didn’t feel so bad,” she said flippantly. “Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t feel _ good_, killing them. But after Brian, I just couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone at the hotel was awful. No one really cared about me. Most of them didn’t even bother to fake it.”

“So you started... culling the clientele?”

This time, Traci did laugh. “You could put it that way.”

“How did you choose your victims?”

“I picked the ones I was most likely to fall for,” she said. “I’m the victim here. I had to protect myself from falling in love again.”

That was a funny way of looking at things. “Was there anything else that helped you choose?”

Traci considered. “I went for regulars. It was easy to find out where they lived. I never went to the same neighbourhood twice.”

“Only one of the men you killed was human,” Connor said. “Was there something special about him?”

“Yeah. Stanley. Gosh, I don’t usually go for humans, but have you _ seen _ him? Yum.”

“Did you kill him differently from the others?”

Traci shrugged. “His neck was a lot easier to snap.”

“Did it make you feel different?”

“It was grosser.”

Connor blinked. This woman was truly insane. 

“Did you take anything from the crime scenes?”

“Not usually. Just from Brian’s. I took a photograph of him, to remember him by. I don’t have it anymore, though.”

“Would you want it now? After everything that’s happened?”

Traci furrowed her brow. “Of course I would,” she said, like it was obvious. “I loved him.”

Connor, having never been in love, didn’t know what to make of that. “I think that’s all we need, Traci.” He looked at Hank for confirmation; Hank nodded. “Thank you for speaking to us.”

“Wait,” she said. “You’re going already?”

“Yes.”

“Will you come back another time?”

“I don’t know…” Connor looked at Hank.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, “but no.” Connor was grateful that he was so firm.

“Okay,” Traci said. “Well, bye then. It’s just so lonely in here…”

Hank practically shoved Connor out the door.

“That was better than last time, right?” Connor asked, as soon as the door was closed.

Hank put a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “Hell yeah. Much better. You got on her side, alright. You’re gonna be her new boyfriend.”

Connor shivered. “I have no interest in becoming victim number seven.”

“Good choice. But you did empathize with her. I could tell.”

“It was easy to, at least until she started laughing.” Connor made a face at the memory. “She was interesting. She told us a lot about how she chose her victims. But her motivation for killing was strange. The murders were sexually, or at least romantically, motivated, but without any gratification. She seemed to think she was fulfilling a duty to herself, but who’s to say she even interacted with these men more than a couple times?” Connor took a breath, running a hand through his hair. “She was so different from David. They had nothing in common.”

Hank shook his head. “They had one thing in common. Both of them had been hurt.”

***

Connor spent the rest of the evening doing research, looking for more cases like Traci’s. He couldn’t find any; most sex android-related crimes were committed in self-defense.

Gradually, his research drifted into other, only-somewhat-related topics. He started browsing the websites for android sex clubs, and from there, he somehow ended up looking at actual pornography.

All those naked bodies, both android and human, made Connor very aware of the fact that he’d never pleasured himself, or anyone else, before. Other than his misadventure with Marcy and the occasional hug from Kara, he’d never had any physical connection with anyone. 

He could knock one of those things off the list tonight. With his homework finished and no plans to go out, why not?

Looking at the pictures on his computer was making him blush. There was no way he could do anything out in the open like this. He turned off his computer and went into the bathroom. 

His shower had only been used once since he’d moved in. He’d tried it, just out of curiosity, but hadn’t been sure what to do with himself. This time, he would stay in longer. He left the bathroom light turned off, so that the light from the living room gave the room a soft glow.

While the shower was warming up, Connor stripped out of his clothes and looked in the mirror. He thought he looked okay. Normal, compared to what he had seen online. He was hairless from the neck down, but a path of freckles led down his stomach to his groin. 

Humans were so preoccupied with what androids — and other humans — had in their pants. Connor didn’t get the fascination; they were meant to look human in every way. His genitals were the same as anyone else with a penis’s.

The shower was hot, and Connor climbed in. Though he could withstand any temperature from freezing to boiling, he adjusted the water to what he thought an average human would choose. Warm, but not scalding.

Then he closed his eyes.

He slid a hand across his chest, just feeling his skin. He tugged at a nipple experimentally; he was more sensitive there than he expected. It felt… good. He followed that sensitivity down to his lower stomach and pelvis, feeling it increase the lower he went.

His cock liked the feeling. It twitched, and started to thicken. Connor opened his eyes and looked down. It looked good. It made him want _ more. _

He let his eyes fall shut again and took his cock in his hand. He worked it like he had seen men do online, sliding his hand up and down, slowly at first, then faster, harder. He slipped the tip between his fingers, feeling the liquid that leaked out of the slit. The warm water mixed with his precum, warming him and letting his hands slip up and down even faster. He found a rhythm that worked for him and rocked back and forth into his palm, his hips stuttering when it got to be too much.

As he touched himself, images flashed through his mind: things he’d seen online, mostly. But none of them aroused him very much. The guys definitely did more for him than the women, but still not quite enough. He thought of Marcy, with her quick tongue and soft lips, but that just made him sad.

Then, both completely unbidden and like it had been there the entire time, waiting, Hank’s face popped into Connor’s head. He pictured him as he had looked in class on Tuesday. He had worn a decent shirt for once, in a deep blue that matched his eyes. He had looked… nice. Handsome.

Connor’s cock responded happily. He hadn’t expected anything tonight, given that it was his first time masturbating, but he could feel something steadily building inside him, begging for release.

His thoughts raced: _Hank, alone in his big house. _

_ Did he find Connor attractive? _

_ Did he touch himself like this too? _

_ Had he ever thought of Connor when he did? _

Connor felt Hank’s hand on his shoulder again, where he placed it after the interview. Heard him again saying, _ “Hell yeah. Much better.” _

Connor felt it, the release he had been waiting for, and his hand was suddenly wet with more than just water, and he was jerking his hips fast and messy, chasing the pleasure to its end. He couldn’t help but moan, bracing himself against the shower wall and stroking himself slowly as the sensitivity overcame him.

He felt weak, and deliriously happy, and extremely guilty all at once. Sinking down to the shower floor, he let the water wash over him. 

He’d never expected to think about Hank that way, but the idea had wiggled into his brain and made a home for itself. How had he never noticed before how _ sexy _Hank was, how sharp and insightful and ruggedly good-looking? Those eyes, especially, how piercing they were?

Connor felt a twitch between his legs. Apparently, androids didn’t have much of a refractory period.

This was going to be a problem.


	8. Late Night

Connor spent Monday night doing the same thing he did all weekend: worrying about seeing Hank again. Criminology class was tomorrow, and he still hadn’t come to terms with what happened in the shower Saturday night — and several times since. He had less than twelve hours left to get over it, and he was trying, but he couldn’t get Hank out of his head.

At least he thought he had twelve hours.

His phone buzzed on the desk. Connor got out of bed, checking the time as he went. 12:12 a.m. Kara never texted this late, and Luther barely texted at all.

_ 1 new message, _ the screen read. _ From: Professor Anderson. _

Connor swiped, hard. 

_ Are you awake? _

As he stared at the text, uncomprehending, another came in.

_ I know you don’t sleep, but are you conscious, or whatever? _

This was not what Connor had been expecting when he and Hank exchanged numbers for professional purposes. A human phrase popped into his head: _ booty call. _ He frowned at the phone for a minute longer, but it wasn’t like he was going to ignore Hank. _ I’m awake, _ he replied. _ What’s going on? _

Hank’s reply came immediately. _ Oh, good. Sorry to text you so late, but they just found another victim in Detroit. It’s definitely our guy. I thought you’d want to know. _

So not a booty call, then. 

_ I’m glad you told me. Can we go to the scene? _

The indicator that Hank was typing appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared again.

_ I thought you’d say that. They want us there ASAP. There’s a problem, though. I’ve had a few drinks. _

A pause.

_ Do you know how to drive? _

_ If not, we can take a taxi. Charge it to the Dean. I’m sure she’d be happy to pay for it. _

Connor doubted that. _ I can drive, _ he wrote back. _ I’ll be at your house in fifteen minutes. _

It was a thirty-minute walk, but Connor was planning to run.

***

Hank was waiting on the porch when Connor got there. Sumo stood on his hind legs in the window behind him, whining.

“Sorry,” Hank said. “If I let him out, he’s gonna want to go with us.”

But it wasn’t Sumo that Connor was interested in at the moment. He was looking at Hank.

It was like seeing him for the first time, though he looked the same as ever: rumpled hair, even more rumpled clothes. His blue eyes were bloodshot, from the late hour or the drink or both. Connor thought he would be drunk, after he said he’d had ‘a few drinks,’ but he seemed the same as always. Perhaps that was a bad thing.

Connor had expected things to be awkward; how did you look someone in the eyes after you’d spent the weekend masturbating to the thought of them, the thoughts of all the things they might do to you? Instead, a warm feeling bloomed in his gut at the sight of Hank, a magnetic pull that made him want to get closer instead of running away.

“We should get going,” Connor said.

Hank reached into his pocket and threw Connor the keys. “Lead the way.”

Connor unlocked the car and slipped into the driver’s side. He had to adjust the seat for his feet to reach the pedals, which was a little embarrassing. Then he stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered to life, and Connor jumped a little at the feel of it beneath his body.

His anxiety was apparently visible. “I thought you said you knew how to drive,” Hank said.

“I _ know _ how. I’ve just… never actually done it before.”

Hank pressed his face into his hands. “Jesus Christ. We should have taken a cab.”

“No, I can do it. Look.” Connor put the car in reverse, backed out of Hank’s driveway, and then threw it in drive. “See?” he said, as he headed towards the end of Hank’s street.

“Yeah, alright. But if you crash it, you’re paying for it.”

“I’ll give you the same amount the junkyard would for the parts.” He only realized what he’d said once it was out of his mouth. He turned to Hank, ready to apologize, but Hank just laughed. A real, full-bellied laugh that Connor hadn’t heard before. He liked it.

“Okay, smart ass,” Hank said. Behind the wheel, Connor smiled.

Ann Arbor was quiet as they drove through downtown, the stores closed and the sidewalks empty. It was peaceful, but also a little spooky.

“Who’s the victim this time?” Connor asked Hank.

“Another android. Male. Gardening model. That’s all I got on the phone.”

“Hmm.” Connor turned onto the highway on-ramp.

“Is this how you pictured your first semester of college?” Hank asked, once Connor had managed to merge without killing them both.

“No,” Connor said. “It’s better.” He signalled left, moved into a faster lane. “Did you think you’d be out hunting androids when the semester started?”

“God, no.” Hank shuddered.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you dislike us so much?”

“Nope.” He turned his head, looked at Connor. “But don’t take it personally. Some of you aren’t so bad.”

Connor sighed. That was an improvement, he supposed.

With the highways mostly deserted, it didn’t take long to reach Detroit. The address they were headed for was in a nicer part of the city than last time, where the houses had garages for fancy cars and trees for keeping the neighbours out of sight. Connor pulled into the circular driveway and parked.

He was wondering how an android gardener had afforded this place when he spotted the human couple on the front steps. They were clearly the owners, and they were both in tears, their nice pajamas covered in blue blood.

“Hey, Hank.” Ben appeared at their side. “Hey, uh, Connor. This is the couple who found him. They’re his owners, or his employers, I guess, is what you’d say now.”

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs….” Hank trailed off.

“Ehrenreich,” the woman said through her tears.

“Ehrenreich. I’m Hank Anderson. It’s nice to meet you.”

“We’re sorry it’s under such unfortunate circumstances,” Connor added. Hank gave him a look. What? He wanted Connor to be empathetic, so Connor was going to be.

“Yeah, sorry,” Hank mumbled. “You’re the ones who found the victim?”

“Teddy, his name was Teddy,” Mrs. Ehrenreich said. “Yes, we found him. We heard noise coming from the guest house, and then we went to see what was wrong, and oh god, the mess—” She broke off into a sob.

“Was he already dead when you got there?” Hank asked.

Mr. Ehrenreich looked up, as though he had just noticed they were there. “Yes, yes he was.”

“And did you see anyone else there?”

“I thought I heard the back door open — there are two entrances,” Mrs. Ehrenreich said, “but Jacob went back there and there was no one.”

“Okay,” Hank said. “Thank you for your time. We’ll take it from here.”

Connor followed Hank and Ben away from the Ehrenreichs and around the back of the house. 

“They seemed pretty attached to _ Teddy,” _ Hank commented.

“Yeah, seems like it. From what I gathered, they bought him a couple years back, but after everything happened, they sort of adopted him, gave him his own little house back here.” Ben let them into the guest house.

It was small, and well-furnished, with plain but expensive pieces. It was hard to estimate their cost, though, because the entire place was covered in Thirium. 

It wasn’t contained to the walls this time. It was everywhere, on the couches, the windows, even the TV. Patterns mixed with streaks like at the previous crime scene, but there were also parts of the walls that were entirely coated in the liquid, like someone had tried to redecorate the room with it.

“Where’s the victim?” Connor asked.

“Three guesses,” Ben said.

The floor outside the bedroom closet was muddied with blue-blood footprints, probably the Ehrenreich’s and, if they were lucky, some of the killers. In the closet was the victim, a WR600, with his hands missing and his head bashed in.

“The head wounds are minimal,” Connor said to Hank, who had followed him. “Just enough to kill him, and no more. Same as last time.”

Hank nodded. “What else?”

Connor looked around. “The hands aren’t here?” Ben shook his head. “He took a trophy. The closet, hands, blue blood on the walls — it’s the same signature.”

“How’d he get in the house?” Hank asked Ben.

“None of the windows in the back were locked. I guess the vic thought it was a safe neighbourhood.”

“That’s the same as last time, too,” Connor said. “Easy access. Was there any connection between the victims?”

“We got people on it, but nothing obvious,” Ben said. “They didn’t work in the same place, and they don’t seem to have known each other.”

“There will be something,” Connor said. “I don’t think they knew each other, but they had something in common that led the killer to them. It’s not random, his choosing them, but I don’t think it’s as much about them personally as it is about access. 

“There was a window open at every scene except the first one, where he had to break one to get in, but it was secluded, so nobody heard. It’s just like how Traci worked: she looked at her victim profile, and then chose whoever she had easy access to.”

“‘Victim profile?’ You’re talking like this guy is the next Jack the Ripper,” Ben said.

“Well, this isn’t Victorian London, but we do think the perpetrator fits the profile of a serial killer.”

Ben turned to Hank. “Seriously? It’s not just some defective robot?”

Hank shook his head. “We don’t think so.” He glanced at Connor. “Not anymore.”

“Okay…” Ben said. “Come take a look at this, though.” He led them back into the living room and down a hallway into the laundry room. Hank hit the light. 

The walls there were covered in patterns like those in the rest of the house, but they were less varied. Actually, they weren’t varied at all; it was the same pattern, a jagged line with a cross through it, reproduced perfectly several times. It started out thick and clear, but the Thirium was running out by the time the android stopped; the last lines were only barely visible. Connor counted: the pattern repeated 227 times.

“The guy must have been standing here for at least an hour doing this over and over again. That doesn’t sound defective to you?”

“It is certainly odd,” Connor said, stepping forward for a better look. “But when we find him, I’m confident there will be an explanation.”

“If we find him,” Ben said. “We’ve got nothing so far.”

They had a lot more than nothing. Connor started to argue, but Hank put a hand to his chest, stopping him. “Hey, you’ve got us, right?” he said amicably. 

“Ha, right.” Someone called Ben’s name from outside the room just then, and he left them there alone.

“Why didn’t you let me explain? He needs to understand that this isn’t just some glitch,” Connor said.

“You gotta pick your battles,” Hank said. “We’re here, we’ve got access, that’s enough for now.” Connor opened his mouth again, but Hank kept going. “The guys who invented profiling got the same crap when they started talking about ‘serial killers’ and ‘signatures’ when no one had ever heard of them. You’ve got to learn to play the game. Tell them what they want to hear, then do it your way anyway.”

“If you say so,” Connor grumbled. “But you believe me now, right? That this is the work of a serial killer?”

“I do,” Hank said. But, although a human wouldn’t have noticed it, Connor caught a half-second’s hesitation in his voice.

***

By the time they left, it was 3:30 in the morning. Hank nodded in the passenger seat, barely staying awake.

“You can sleep, if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Don’t want you crashing my car.” Hank shook his head briskly, and sat up straighter. 

Connor dropped him off an hour later, hopping out of the car and returning the keys. “Goodnight, Hank. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Hank frowned at him. “You’re gonna walk home?”

“Yes.”

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be out alone at this time of night.”

“I appreciate the concern, Professor, but I’ll be okay.”

“Can’t you take a taxi?”

“There’s really no need,” Connor said. What he didn’t say was that he didn’t have money for one.

Hank seemed to understand anyway. “Look, I’m beat,” he said, scraping a hand over the back of his head. “I’m going straight to bed. If you want, you’re welcome to stay on my couch until morning. I’d rather that than find you with your hands chopped off tomorrow.”

Connor could have told him that their killer was in Detroit, not Ann Arbor, but Hank already knew that, and how could Connor say no when Hank, the object of his burgeoning feelings of desire, was inviting him to stay the night?

“Okay,” Connor said. “I’ll stay.”

“Good.” Hank unlocked the door. “The couch is Sumo’s bed, though, so you’re gonna have to share.”

“That’s more than fine with me.” He followed Hank into the dark house and greeted Sumo, who sauntered over sleepily to say hello.

Hank started up the stairs. “Yell if you need anything.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Hank.”

“Anytime. Well, not anytime. But— ah, hell. Goodnight, Connor.”

“Goodnight.”

Connor settled in on the couch, Sumo’s giant body on his lap. He stroked him absent-mindedly for a while, just ruminating on the fact that he was really here, in Hank’s house, in the middle of the night. 

His thoughts drifted. He wondered what Hank was doing upstairs— no. He was not going to think those things, not tonight. He needed to control himself. 

There was no way he was going into sleep mode, though. He was too hyped up, about the case and about Hank. He waited until he could hear Hank’s snores through the ceiling, and until Sumo got sleepy enough that he could roll the big dog off of him. Then, he got up and wandered around.

He told himself it wasn’t snooping if he only looked at the area of the house he had been invited into. He went to the kitchen first, and poked around in Hank’s fridge and cupboards. There was not enough food in the fridge, and too much liquor in the cupboards. Connor shut them, and moved on. The downstairs bathroom looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, and Connor actually found some cleaning products under the sink and gave it a good scrubbing, just to pass the time.

He explored the living room next. The bookshelves interested him most; there were just _ so _ many books. There were reference books and textbooks, even a few that Hank had written himself. Connor grabbed one of them and skimmed the whole thing. It was good; he learned a great deal just from flipping through it. He made a note to read the rest of Hank’s books when he got a chance. Aside from the academic stuff, there were also quite a few novels. Hank’s interest in crime didn’t seem to stop at non-fiction. He had an entire shelf dedicated to Agatha Christie.

Connor was running his hands down a row of short story collections when his fingers brushed up against something thinner. A piece of paper stuck out between two of the books. Connor slipped it out and turned it over.

It was a photograph of a slightly younger, but much happier, Hank, with a boy of about five. Connor saw the resemblance right away, but he scanned the photo to make sure. _ Cole Anderson _ , his search said. _ Deceased, 2035. _ Connor flipped the photo over. There was writing on the back. _ Cole & Daddy, _ it said in an unfamiliar script. _ 2034\. _

Connor returned the photo to the shelf as quickly as he could, making sure Hank would never noticed that he’d moved it. He stood still, running more searches. The results were unpleasant: _ child killed in hit-and-run. Android doctor fails to save young boy. _ A headline from a less-than-reputable paper: _ ANDROIDS ARE KILLING OUR CHILDREN. _

Connor squeezed his eyes shut, processing the information. Hank had had a son, and now he didn’t, and it was an android’s fault. Suddenly, everything made sense: his drinking, his hatred of androids, the discrepancy between his stellar reputation and his questionable decorum. 

Connor, though not technically capable of nausea, felt it anyway. Empathy wasn’t something he could turn on and off. In that moment, he felt what must have been a fraction of the pain Hank felt, and it almost overwhelmed him. He would hate androids, too, if he were Hank. He hated himself, a little. He wondered how Hank could even stand having him in the house.

Just when Connor decided he needed to leave before Hank woke up, he heard footsteps upstairs. _ Damnit, _ Connor thought. If he went now, he’d look like he was running away. He had to stay.

Hank came downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and looking like he’d been hit by a truck. He stumbled past Connor into the kitchen, where he made a pot of coffee and then drank half of it.

“Morning,” he finally said to Connor.

“Good morning, Hank.”

“Did Sumo keep you up all night?”

“No,” Connor said, shaking his head. It wasn’t technically a lie. “He was great company.” He stared down at the dog, grateful that Sumo couldn’t spill his secret.

“I’m sure. Let me get some breakfast down and then I’ll drive us to campus, okay?”

Connor looked up. Hank was looking at him like everything was fine, like his son wasn’t dead because of one of Connor’s kin. His eyes were open and welcoming. Connor felt like he could dive right into that blue.

Maybe everything _ was _fine, or if it wasn’t, maybe it could be. Maybe things could change for Hank. Get better, even.

“Sounds good,” Connor said. “Can I help with breakfast?”


	9. Canada

“Passport?”

“Got it. You?”

“In the glove box. You can check if you want.”

“That’s not necessary. I believe you.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Hank hit the gas and pulled away from Connor’s building. They were going to Canada.

***

“Have you been to Canada before?”

“Yup.”

“I’m excited. Is it very different from America?”

“I dunno. Sort of, and sort of not. Fewer androids there.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll enjoy the trip.” Connor glanced over at Hank, who rolled his eyes. “What other countries have you been to?”

Hank scrunched up his nose, thinking. Cute wasn’t the word Connor would have usually chosen to describe Hank, but it fit in that moment. “Mexico, Dominican Republic. The UK, for work, a few times.”

“Do you like travelling?”

“Not particularly.”

“Interesting,” Connor said. “I feel the same way.”

“Really?” Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “It seems like a lot of androids are into that, since you got freedom. Wanting to see the world, and all that.”

“Some of my friends are. Kara — you know Kara? She’s in your class.”

“The blonde you always sit with?” Connor nodded. “Smart girl.”

“She is. And she wants to travel. She asked me to bring her back a souvenir today.”

Hank laughed. “No one wants a souvenir from where we’re going.”

“That may be true,” Connor said.

They were quiet for a moment. Then, Hank said, “You really aren’t interested? In seeing the world?”

Connor shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind going on a vacation or two, but I don’t have the wanderlust that some androids do. After everything I’ve been through… I just want a normal life.”

“Wow. You could do anything in the world, and you just want to go to school.” Hank looked over at him. “Nerd.” 

Connor snorted out a laugh. He often felt awkward about his laugh — it was stilted, from lack of practice — but he was always comfortable laughing around Hank, and it was becoming more and more common an occurrence. They were spending a lot more time together these days, mostly at Hank's home, transcribing, analyzing, strategizing, and Connor was not complaining.

“You’ve got it right, though,” Hank said. “Putting down roots is underrated these days. Hell, this is the first time I’ve left the country in years.”

Connor couldn’t help but wonder how many trips Hank had taken with Cole (and Cole’s mother?) before he died, back when Hank was happy. But he didn’t say a word.

The highway traffic slowed to a crawl as Hank joined a line of cars. “Border patrol.” 

Signs in both English and French instructed drivers which lanes to enter. Connor, excited to finally use his polyglottal skills, read the French ones aloud in a perfect accent.

Hank sighed, but Connor could tell he was amused. “Don’t be weird when we’re talking to the border guards.”

_ “Pas de problème,” _ Connor said. Hank rolled his eyes.

They pulled up to the guard booth. “Morning,” Hank said to the border officer.

“Passports, please.” Hank passed them over, along with a document from the university explaining their research work. The guard scanned them. He asked Hank a few questions, like where they were going and how long they’d be there.

Connor fidgeted nervously. What is something was wrong? What if they wouldn’t let Hank in because of him, and they couldn’t do their interview?

“Alright, you’re good to go. The android has to stay with you at all times, and if he doesn’t, you’re legally required to report it to the police.”

“Got it,” Hank said. And then they were across the border. Connor’s phone buzzed with a message welcoming him to Canada.

After a two-hour drive down country roads and highways that looked exactly the same as the ones they’d left in Michigan, Hank pulled the car up to Quantech Research, where today’s interviewee was being held. Because he was in a private facility rather than a prison, it had been the hardest interview for them to get.

“Tell me about him,” Hank said.

“Model LM100, no name given,” Connor rattled off. “We don’t know where he came from or how he got into Canada. We do know that he killed four people, one android and three humans, in Hamilton, by, uh, tearing them to pieces. The crimes were disorganized, with no link between the victims.”

“Good.”

The welcome they got inside was much warmer than at the prisons, despite the fact that the management had been adamant about not wanting them there in the first place. A researcher in a white coat, who introduced herself as Dr. Shankar, escorted them past security and into the elevator.

“I think I should warn you about the state of the subject,” she said, once they were inside.

“Is he damaged?”

“No. But I think after you meet him, you’ll see why we told you on the phone it was pointless to come here.”

“We’ll judge that for ourselves,” Hank said.

Dr. Shankar took them to an all-white room, like something out of a science fiction film. The android sat at a table, wearing Cyberlife-issue clothing and looking quite normal, aside from the fact that he was in sleep mode. A technician sat beside him.

Dr. Shankar held the door for them, then followed them inside.

She didn’t leave. “You know, normally, it’s just us and them,” Hank said.

“How about we wake him up,” she said, “and then you can decide if you want us to go.”

Hank inhaled slowly; Connor knew that meant he was annoyed. But he said, “Fine,” and sat down at the table. Connor joined him.

The tech placed a hand on the LM100’s neck and woke him up. Connor tensed, expecting an outburst, but the LM100 just opened his eyes and sat calmly.

“Wtcdnh ahnnhu teaeeh:a,” he said. “A3 atorwthho iileoihudvern.”

“What the fuck?” Hank said. “Did that make sense to you?” Connor shook his head. It was complete gibberish, more noise than speech.

“Hello?” Connor tried.

“Han $snoa e:kaht nnnhh e mrmee hoehr gen.”

Hank turned around to face Dr. Shankar. “Is this normal?”

“This is the state they found him at the last crime scene.”

“Does he speak at all?”

“Sometimes.” She addressed the android. “State your model number.”

“LM100,” the android said, his voice clear as day.

Hank put his head in his hands. “Holy hell.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t damaged?” Connor said to Dr. Shankar.

“He’s not,” she said. “That’s why he’s here. There’s absolutely no damage to his hardware, and nothing that we can find wrong with his software. We have no idea what’s causing this. Our best guess so far is that it’s either a virus, or some kind of glitch.”

Connor went rigid at the word ‘glitch.’ 

Hank noticed Connor tense. “Maybe we just should go,” he said. “We aren’t going to get consent from him anyway.”

“No,” Connor said quickly. If he was wrong about what was happening in Detroit, he needed to know. “Let me talk to him for a few minutes. Off the record.”

“Fine,” Hank said. “But just a few minutes. This isn’t gonna fly with the ethics board.”

“Since when do you care about the ethics board?” Connor said. Hank gave him a sharp look, and then nodded his head at Dr. shankar. She didn’t look impressed. Connor was going to have to make this quick.

“Okay. LM100, can you tell me your earliest memory?”

“O;ht i we t nfstuhoplu*ao si qfees ry.”

“Do you remember killing anyone?”

“Fsttohdhdf;l hep,erinnon5 ks tefd9tissWahhmrf.”

“What’s 3457 times 38?”

“One hundred and thirty-one thousand, three hundred and sixty-six.”

“I—” Connor faltered. “Has anyone tried connecting to him?”

“No—” Dr. Shankar started.

“—and you’re not going to,” Hank finished. “If he has a virus, you could end up the same way. Do not touch him.”

“Fine.” Connor turned back to LM100. “Can you tell me about Farad Hassan?” Hassan was one of the men LM100 had killed.

“Farad Hassan was killed on July 2nd, 2039, in Pringle Park. The cause of death was exsanguination.”

“Were you there?”

“Uestsmetbghw ose nhthreaihupetpsetnoateigegth!”

“We’ve tried all this,” Dr. Shankar said, not unkindly. “He can tell you facts, but nothing about himself.”

“There’s got to be some way,” Connor said.

“I doubt it, if they haven’t found it yet,” Hank said. “We’re gonna go. Thanks for letting us come up here. We probably should have listened when you said it was useless on the phone.”

Dr. Shankar smiled sadly. “Actually, I was hoping you’d find something we didn’t. Thanks for trying.”

Hank led them outside, Connor flipping his coin rapidly as he followed him to the car.

***

Hank drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You wanna stop for lunch?”

“No, thank you.”

“We can get Kara her souvenir. A stuffed moose, or something.”

“No. We can just go home.”

Hank looked at Connor pointedly.

“I’m not wrong about our case,” Connor said.

“Didn’t say you were.”

Connor sighed. “But what if I am?”

“Lighten up,” Hank said. “One glitched-out android doesn’t change anything. It’s an outlier.”

“Or not.”

“God, you’re stubborn.”

Connor couldn’t help but smile a little. “I hate not understanding what’s going on.”

“That’s college for you,” Hank said. “Hell, that’s life.”

“It’s very frustrating,” Connor said.

“It sure—” _ Clunk. _ The car shook violently.

“What was that?”

“Ugh,” Hank groaned. He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. “Flat tire.”

“I see.” Self-driving cars came equipped with tires that weren’t capable of being punctured or deflating, but Connor chose not to say so. “Should we call your roadside assistance company?”

Hank gave him a look that said he didn’t have one.

“I can search for how to change it,” Connor said.

Hank scoffed. “I know how to change a damn flat.”

“Oh,” Connor said. “Okay.” The idea of watching Hank while he did something so… physical was enticing. “Then, will you teach me?”

“Sure. But you’re doing all the heavy lifting.”

“My pleasure.” Connor hopped out of the car. It was a pleasant fall day, and they were on a country road, surrounded by trees. The leaves were finally changing like Connor had wanted. With no one else in sight, Connor couldn’t help but find the setting romantic. His bad mood quickly dissipated into the crisp autumn air.

Hank examined the flat, scratching his beard. “Grab the spare from the trunk,” he called to Connor.

Connor lifted the trunk floor, picked up the spare and tools, and took them to Hank.

“Okay,” Hank said. “Take the wrench, and unscrew the hubcap.”

“We should put up the reflective warning sign.” Connor held up the foldable orange pylon he’d found below the tire.

“Or we could not do that,” Hank said. Connor put it up anyway.

“Now. The hubcap.”

Connor knelt down, Hank beside him. He got the hubcap unscrewed, then started in on the lug nuts. 

Hank stopped him before he could get them off. “No, don’t take them off yet.” He put a hand on Connor’s wrist, holding him still. His fingers wrapped all the way around it. “Just loosen them for now.” Connor obeyed, though his thoughts were getting away from him. Hank was close; Connor could feel the heat coming off his body. He wanted to get closer.

“Now, we need the jack,” Hank said. It was Connor’s time to shine.

“No need,” he said with a wink. He braced himself on the ground, then lifted the car’s frame up.

“Jesus. Is that safe?” Hank asked.

Connor laughed. “Safe enough. Admit it,” he said. “You’re impressed.”

Hank looked Connor over. “Okay. I’m impressed. Can you hold it while I can the tire?”

“Of course I can.” Actually, Connor was not sure that was true. He was strong, but not lift-a-car-for-a-prolonged-period-of-time strong. His muscles were straining. But he was determined not to disappoint Hank.

Hank worked the wrench, loosening the lug nuts the rest of the way, then slipped the tire off. Connor wished that Cyberlife had bothered to invent X-ray vision, so that he could see what was going on beneath Hank’s shirt as he lifted the new tire into place. Aside from his height, the professor wasn’t very physically imposing, but Connor was willing to bet that there was strength under his baggy clothes.

“You can let it go now.” Connor let the car down gently, stretching out his aching arms while Hank screwed the hubcap back in place.

“We did it,” Connor said. He put out a hand to help Hank up, and Hank took it. “We make a good team.” After the weight of the car, Hank, who had to be at least 200 pounds, felt like a feather when Connor pulled him up. He pulled too hard, and Hank ended up inches from Connor’s face, close enough that Connor could feel his breath on his lips. Connor wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, to press his mouth against Hank’s.

For just a second, Hank stayed close, didn’t pull back. Then he snapped out of it, stepped away. “We sure do,” he said, his voice casual. He got back in the car like nothing had happened.

But Connor knew, as surely as he knew anything, that in that moment, while he thought about kissing Hank, Hank was thinking the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, a Canadian, writing this chapter: CA NA DA! CA NA DA! CA NA DA!
> 
> Here's the link to the video I watched about tire changing cause I sure as fuck didn't know how to do it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joBmbh0AGSQ&t=14s
> 
> And here's the gibberish generator I used for LM100's speech: https://thinkzone.wlonk.com/Gibber/GibGen.htm


	10. Complications

On Tuesday afternoon after class, Connor, Kara and Luther had a study session at their local coffee co-op (which, luckily, charged by the hour, rather than per drink, and gave students half-off). It was officially midterm season. Connor, however, had souvenirs to give out before they could study.

“Aww!” Kara held her stuffed moose up to her face. “It’s very cute. Thank you, Connor.”

“You’re welcome. Luther, I got you this.” He pulled a small bottle of maple syrup from his backpack. “I know you can’t eat it, but it smells very good.” He was worried that Luther wouldn’t like it — Connor hadn’t been sure what to get him — but Luther smelled it and smiled.

“It does smell good. Thank you.”

“Maybe you can make pancakes for that human girl you’re dating,” Kara said, elbowing Luther.

That was news to Connor. “You’re dating a human?”

“No! Kara mistook what she saw—”

“Sure I did,” Kara laughed. 

“You did!” Luther said, a little harshly. “We’re here to study, aren’t we? Let’s study.”

Kara glanced at Connor, but Connor was as perplexed as she was. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. She reached for her backpack, but her phone beeped on the table, so she grabbed that instead. Connor took out his books, unwilling to get in the middle of whatever was going on with them.

Ten minutes later, Kara still hadn’t touched her books. She just stared out the window. “Are you alright?” Connor asked her.

“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Work has just been stressful lately.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say, it’s—” Her phone beeped again. Her eyes darted back and forth as she read the message. “Oh, no. I have to go.”

“Right now?” Luther asked.

“Yes. It’s an emergency.” She was already packing up her things. “I’ll see you guys later. Sorry.”

Connor and Luther watched as she dashed to the door and away down the street. They exchanged worried glances, then turned back to their books. 

Without Kara guiding them, though, they quickly lost their motivation. They had perfect memories; why bother studying?

Connor was the first to close his book. “What did Kara see that made her think you were dating a human?”

Luther sighed. “This girl was flirting with me after a game last week. Kara saw us, and she thought I was flirting back, but I wasn’t. I was trying to get the girl to leave me alone.”

Connor didn’t need to ask why Luther cared what Kara thought about his relationship status. It was written all over his face every time they were together.

“That’s hard.” Connor pursed his lips. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to a game yet,” he added.

Luther smiled. “It’s okay. I can tell football isn’t really your thing.”

“I guess not.” Connor still wasn’t sure what his ‘thing’ was, but it definitely wasn’t sports.

“How are things with Professor Anderson?” Luther asked.

Connor exhaled. _ What a question. _ Instead of answering, he said, “Luther, can I ask you a personal question?”

Luther squinted at him. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“Have you ever…” Connor wasn’t sure how best to phrase it. “...been intimate with someone?”

“Oh,” Luther said. “Yes. Once. Well, more than once, but only with one person.” 

Connor leaned forward. “Would you tell me about it? Not the act itself. I understand that well enough” — he was babbling — “but would you tell me about your relationship?”

Luther shrugged. “It’s not a good story. It was after the revolution. I met a woman in the camps, and we became close. We looked out for each other, and we… became a sort of couple.” He sighed. “It wasn’t a good time in our lives, and it didn’t last long. We fought, and then we went our separate ways when the camp was liberated. I don’t know what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry, Luther,” Connor said. “That’s awful.”

Luther just shrugged again.

“What did you do after that?”

“Some of us stayed behind at the camp and turned it into a shelter. That’s when I met Kara. She was so different from everyone there; even with all the horrible things going on, she was kind, and optimistic. I never would have even thought about applying to school without her encouragement…” He trailed off.

“Kara is special,” Connor said awkwardly.

Luther coughed. “Yes, she is. But why are you asking about this? Are you seeing someone?”

Connor shook his head. “No, I’m not, I—”

“I see. Unrequited feelings.”

“Actually, I’m not sure they are unrequited, but— it’s complicated.”

Luther narrowed his eyes. “Is it someone I know?”

“Yes.”

“Is it…?” He held up their textbook.

Connor couldn’t help but blush. “Yes.”

Luther leaned back, crossing his arms. “That _ is _complicated.”

And Luther only thought so because Hank was their teacher. Connor thought of Hank’s drinking, and his big empty house, and his son. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, I wish you luck,” Luther said.

“You too.” Connor suddenly didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Should we attempt to study?”

Luther nodded. “Sure.”

***

Hank picked Connor up on Friday afternoon after his last class. They were heading back into Detroit, to look at the suspect list the police had come up with. The spare tire on Hank’s car had been replaced with a new one since the weekend.

“Hello, Hank,” Connor said, closing the passenger door behind him.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Hank said, by way of greeting. 

Connor’s few sweaters were in the laundry he’d been putting off, so he was wearing just a t-shirt in the mid-October chill. Hank, on the other hand, wore a leather jacket over at least two layers of tacky shirts. “Androids aren’t as affected by changing temperatures as humans are.”

“Even when it’s this cold? It’s barely forty.”

“It’s actually 42.7 degrees.”

Hank threw up his hands in defeat. Connor, afraid of the car swerving, grabbed the wheel. Hank swatted his hands away.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he said, taking control of the car again. “There’s an extra coat in the back if you get cold.”

Connor didn’t take it, at first, but then he noticed Hank sneaking glances at him. He pulled the coat from the back and put it on.

“Thought you weren’t cold?” Hank said with a smirk.

“I’m wearing it for your benefit,” Connor replied. “So you don’t worry about me too much.”

“Like I would,” Hank said. But the nervous glances stopped. Connor nestled deeper into the coat, a shearling-lined corduroy jacket that smelled like Hank and felt like a soft blanket. He thought of his conversation with Luther: the situation was complicated, but it also felt so, so _ right, _just to be here with Hank.

An hour later, they were at a police station in Detroit, where Captain Fowler met them at the door.

“Hank, Connor, come on in.”

“How’s it going, Jeff?”

“Better now you’re here, I hope.” Captain Fowler led them into a meeting room, where several uniformed officers and detectives were already gathered. Neither Connor nor Hank answered him. 

They took seats in the audience. “Okay,” Hank whispered. “Wow us.”

The last of the officers straggled in and took their seats, and Ben stood at the front of the room and asked everyone to quiet down, then told them to shut up when they didn’t listen. He introduced a woman named Elizabeth — who, Connor noticed with excitement, had an LED on her temple — as a forensic cartographer, who would be addressing them first.

“Hello everyone,” Elizabeth said in a crisp voice. “As Ben said, I’m a forensic cartographer. I’ve been mapping the movements of each of the four victims over the last two weeks of their lives.” She clicked a remote, which made an image appear on the screen at the front of the room. It was a map of Detroit, with red lines running over it that showed the paths the victims had taken. There were clusters of red where the lines intersected.

“There are three places that all of the victims visited recently. Central station, Belle Isle Park, and a neighbourhood in the North End that’s mostly suburban.”

The North End neighbourhood stuck out to Connor. He put up a hand. “What were the victims doing in the third location?”

“We don’t know for sure why all of them were there,” Elizabeth said. “The first victim lived there and the second one, the engineer, worked nearby. The third, the paramedic, had been there previously for work, but we don’t know why he was there this time, and the fourth one… we have no idea.”

“So triangulate the signal or whatever so we can find the guy! How hard is this?” someone called out from the back of the room.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “As I’ve already explained to you, Detective Reed, it’s not that simple. Three of the four victims turned off their tracking devices after the revolution. We can only track their phones, which just gives us the neighbourhood they were in, not their exact location.”

“That’s technology for you!” Detective Reed said sarcastically.

“It’s the law, actually,” Elizabeth said. “It protects your privacy as well as everyone else’s.” She smoothed her hair. “Well. That’s all I have. Any questions?”

“Is that it?” Hank whispered to Captain Fowler. “We drove here for that?”

“Knowing the neighbourhood that the killer found them in is very helpful,” Connor said.

“We don’t _ know _ anything, and we can’t profile a whole damn neighbourhood!” The room had gone quiet, and Hank, unfortunately, was heard by everyone. Connor hoped Elizabeth didn’t take Hank’s attitude too personally.

Captain Fowler spoke up. “Since you’re here, Professor Anderson, maybe you can give a preliminary profile?” A buzz went through the room; even though he’d been low-profile for a long time, people knew Hank’s name. They were excited to hear from him.

“Jeff, we don’t have enough yet—”

“Try.” Captain Fowler’s face suggested it was not up for discussion.

“Fine.” Hank stood up in place. When Connor didn’t stand, Hank grabbed him by the back of his jacket and pulled him. “Connor here will tell you everything you need to know.” Hank clapped him on the back, and sat back down.

Connor faced the crowd of expected cops. There would be time to get mad at Hank for this later. For now, he had a job to do.

“From what we’ve seen so far,” Connor said, tenting his hands, “some of the factors that help us profile human serial killers — things like the age of the victims, their race — don’t matter as much to androids. They also don’t kill for gratification in the same way humans do; their motivations are different. And they tend to target people they already know, or who they have easy access to.”

“What are their motivations?” someone in the audience asked. Connor studied the sea of faces; they were actually listening to him.

Unfortunately, he had to disappoint them. “We don’t know yet. There’s just not enough evidence. But we should have something clearer for you soon.

“There is one thing, though, that I think you can count on. Whoever is doing this, they will have been hurt in the past, and badly. Possibly by other androids, but most likely by humans. When you’re canvassing, you’ll want to look out for any complaints of an android being mistreated by humans. I’m positive you’ll find abuse in their history.”

The faces in the audience turned to confusion. Connor knew exactly what they were thinking.

In this world, what android _ hadn’t _ been abused by humans?

How were they ever going to find this guy?


	11. Los Angeles

“We should go,” Hank said. “We’re gonna be late.”

In the passenger seat, Connor sighed. “Let me try one more time.” He tapped Kara’s name on his phone.

_ Hi, this is Kara! Leave a message! _

Connor hung up before the beep. He’d already left two messages.

“Maybe she’s just busy,” Hank suggested.

“It’s not like her not to answer.” Kara had been late to class on Tuesday and hadn’t gotten a seat with Connor and Luther. Then she’d rushed out five minutes before the end. Connor had no idea what was going on, but it had to be serious.

He considered calling again, but Hank was right: they were going to be late. “Let’s go in.”

Connor stepped out of the car into the bright sunlight, putting a hand up to shield his eyes. “Man, California is hot,” Hank said. “How do people live like this?” They were in Los Angeles this weekend, their first trip that required a plane ride. It was also the first that required overnight lodging.

“Is there any temperature that you wouldn’t complain about?” Connor asked.

“Shut up.” Hank took his coat off and threw it in the backseat of the car. “Can you imagine being here in the middle of summer? You think they keep this place” — he gestured at the sprawling prison behind him — “air-conditioned?”

“It would be unpleasant,” Connor allowed. “Especially for humans.”

“Uh, _ yeah.” _ Hank put on a pair of sunglasses and started across the massive parking lot, Connor following him. 

“So what did you think of my lecture this week?” Hank asked as they walked.

Connor frowned. They almost never talked about class. Connor was getting straight As in Hank’s class, and that was good enough for him. 

“It was good?” Hank had lectured about property crimes.

“‘It was good?’” Hank repeated. “That’s it?”

“It was very good?” Connor tried again. “Did you want more specific feedback?”

Hank shook his head, looking up at the sky. “I mentioned androids twice! I thought you’d at least notice.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “I remember you mentioning them. I just didn’t know I was supposed to remark on it.”

Hank let out a huff. “I added in examples of android-related crimes for you! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It is, but… we’re doing this now. I guess I just felt like you’ve already had it covered.”

“Fine! Forget I mentioned it, then.” They’d reached the entrance, so Connor didn’t get a chance to ask Hank more.

They went through the rigamarole of being searched, getting visitors passes, and being led to an interrogation room. Unusually, though, this one was empty. 

“I’ll go get him now,” the guard that had escorted them said. “He refused to come out until you were here.” He started to walk away, but then turned back. “This isn’t going to be fun for you,” he said.

“We’ll be okay,” Hank said, waving him off. To Connor: “Let’s get set up.”

Connor and Hank set up their equipment, then waited five minutes, then waited five minutes more for their interviewee to arrive. Just when Connor was about to complain, a hand slammed against the window, making him jump halfway out of his seat.

A CX100 model android was being pulled away from the glass by the same guard as before. Even though the model number was right, Connor halfheartedly hoped that this wasn’t their guy.

No such luck. The guard brought him in, handcuffed his wrists and ankles to the table, and left without a word.

The CX100 had dark skin, closely-shaven hair, and a pissed-off look on his face. He stared at Hank and Connor like they had personally offended him.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” the android said.

Connor clicked the ‘on’ button on his recorder.

“No, no fucking recording, I don’t want that,” the android spat at him.

“Alright.” Connor turned the recorder back off. He could just record the interview with his eyes anyway. “Can you state your name?”

“Nero.”

“Nero?”

“Yup.”

“Like the emperor?” Hank asked.

“Do I have to tell you again?!”

“I’m confused,” Connor said, “because when you were arrested, the name you gave was Bernard.”

“That was the name the humans gave me. My name is fucking Nero!”

Connor glanced at Hank; this was going to be tiresome.

“Okay, Nero,” Connor said. “What we are particularly interested in today is how you chose your victims.” He and Hank had decided on this strategy on the plane ride. While compiling a predictive profile of android killers like the one for humans would be nice, what they really needed right now was to solve their case in Detroit. Then they could start doing more thorough research. “You killed four people, correct?”

“I sure did.”

“And you knew them all in advance?”

“No, I did not.”

“Yes, you did,” Connor said slowly. “You encountered each victim no longer than a week before you killed them.”

“Nope. I’d never seen them before.”

Connor flipped through the file he’d brought and produced a photo. He slid it to Nero across the table.

“This is Hugh. He was your neighbour’s android, and your second victim. This is CCTV footage of you speaking to him outside a store near your home.”

Nero shrugged. “Must be someone else.”

Connor jabbed a finger at the photo. “This is very clearly you. They showed this as evidence at your trial.”

Nero just shrugged again.

Connor grabbed the photo and pulled it back. “Fine, then. How did you choose your victims?”

“I just killed whoever I felt like.”

“No, you didn’t,” Connor said, through gritted teeth. “You planned your kills, making sure to take your victims by surprise.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about my _ ‘victims,’” _ he said mockingly. “I came to talk about me.”

“Like I said, we’re not interested in that today.”

“You should be interested in me! You’re here to interview me!” Nero jutted his chin out.

Connor had had enough of his posturing. “You are not interesting to me,” Connor said, carefully enunciating each word. “You’re a narcissist with a superiority complex. You’re textbook.”

A look of shock passed over Nero’s face, but he quickly recovered and change tacks. “You know,” he said, “one of my ‘victims’ was an RK800.”

Connor was wondering when that was going to come up. “I’m aware.”

“Looked just like you.”

“They all do.”

“Sucks for them,” Nero said with a choked laugh. “Wanna know how I killed him?”

“You ripped the wires out of the back of his neck, like you did with all of your victims.”

“You think you know everything. Did you know he was awake the whole time while I did it? Did you know what some of those wires cause pain when you touch them?”

“Androids don’t feel p—”

“Oh yes they do. They do when I get ahold of them. I’d love to do it to you right now, watch your eyes flicker as I rip those cords right out of your neck—”

Connor stood up. “We’re done here.”

“You aren’t done,” Nero said. “I haven’t even started!” 

“And you won’t get that chance.” Connor grabbed his files and recorder and left, not even looking if Hank was following him.

He was, of course. “That was fast,” he said.

“He wasn’t going to give us anything useful. All we were doing was boosting his ego. I’m not playing that game.”

“You’re right,” Hank said. “He wasn’t going to give us anything. But are you alright? That got a little heavy.”

“I’m fine.” Connor pushed the door open, and the heat and sunlight washed over him again. He let Hank pass him in the parking lot, pretending to stop and tie his shoe. Then, when he was sure that Hank was far enough ahead not to notice, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck. It had been itching since they left the interrogation room.

***

After a half-hour drive, they checked into the hotel, and were given adjoining rooms. 

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Connor asked Hank at the front desk. “We could take an earlier flight.”

“Nah. I’d rather get a decent night’s sleep than try to sleep on a plane. Besides, I’m not gonna miss a chance to charge room service to the university.”

Connor shrugged. “Okay.”

Back in his room, Connor couldn’t settle down. He put on the television, but didn’t watch it. He couldn’t stop scratching at the back of his neck, couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there.

Finally, he went into the bathroom to check in the mirror. Sure enough, there was nothing; just the normal expanse of smooth, freckled skin. Conner hesitated for a moment, then found the tiny notch that held the hidden compartment closed. He pressed it gently, letting the little fuse-box-like panel fall open.

He’d never opened the port before, but the wires were there, just as he knew they were. They were made of a reinforced polymer that didn’t break easily, but they were so thin and fragile-looking that that was hard to remember. Connor slid his fingers over them gently. It felt like nothing at all, until suddenly it didn’t. An unpleasant jolt ran down Connor’s spine; he doubled-over, breathing hard.

So it was true. He could feel pain.

Connor quickly shut the panel and returned to the bedroom, telling himself that he would never, ever open it again. He pulled his coin from his pocket and flipped it relentlessly.

Some time later, there was a knock at the door between Connor and Hank’s rooms. “Come in,” Connor called.

“Hey,” Hank said, leaning against the doorframe. He wore sweats, and his hair was wet; he must have just showered. “I can hear you flipping that damn coin in the next room. You know you’ve been doing it for like half an hour?”

“Sorry. I’ll stop.” He caught the coin and put it away.

“Why don’t you come hang out in my room for a while? I’ve got room service coming, and there’s a football game on.”

Connor was happy for the distraction, and even happier when he realized that Hank’s room didn’t have a couch, and that they would have to sit on the bed together. Hank got his room service hamburger, and the two of them settled in to watch the game.

Being so close to Hank, being able to feel every shift of his body through the mattress, made Connor acutely aware of his body. Unfortunately, that didn’t help distract him from the irritation at the back of his neck. He scratched again, trying to make the feeling go away.

“You keep doing that,” Hank said. “Did you get mechanical fleas or something?”

“No.”

Hank turned the volume down on the TV and looked at Connor. “It’s what he said, isn’t it? Nero, or whatever the fuck his name is. About the wires?”

“I tried touching them,” Connor admitted, “when we got back. He’s right; it _ hurt _ when I touched some of them.”

“You went poking around in your circuitry because a _ serial killer _ suggested it?!”

“Not _ because _he suggested it… I was curious.” Connor scratched again. “He got in my head.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. He killed someone who looked just like you. It must be creepy. I never think about the other models with your face. Well, I mean, except for—”

“Yeah.”

“Is that gonna be a problem?”

“No. I can handle it. I handled it fine today, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, sure. Just don’t go sticking your hands in your hardware again.” Hank paused, took a bite of his burger. “Is it weird? Sharing a face with other people?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually met another RK800. Some androids see multiple versions of themselves every day, even on campus, but RK800s are rare.”

“At least they gave you a decent face,” Hank said through a mouthful of beef. “I wouldn’t wanna see some dude who looked like me walking around.”

Connor wanted to tell Hank that he thought his face was wonderful, but he was too busy keeping his cheeks from turning blue to be able to. Hank thought his face was _ decent_. From him, that was a huge compliment.

The moment passed before Connor could pull himself together. Instead, he asked Hank, “Will you explain football to me? One of my friends is on the U of M team, and I’ve read a little about it, but I just don’t understand it.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense on paper,” Hank said, “or off paper, really. But I’ll try.”

They spent the next few hours watching the end of the first game, and then the entirety of another, Hank doing his best to explain to Connor what the hell was going on. Neither of them bothered to turn on a light, even as the sun went down, so by the end of the night, they sat in the dark, only the glow of the TV lighting the room. And if they ended up a little too close together on the bed, leaning into each other as they spoke, the darkness kept it secret.

“I’m gonna pass out soon,” Hank said around eleven. “Time for bed.”

Connor stood up. “Thank you for entertaining me.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You were good company.”

Connor smiled. “Okay.” He hovered at the door.

Hank narrowed his eyes. “Are you still freaked out from earlier?”

“No, I think I’m—” He was about to say ‘fine,’ but he stopped when he realized his hand was halfway to his neck, ready to scratch. He put it down, clenching his fist. “I’m fine.”

Hank wasn’t buying it. “Stay a little longer, why don’t you. We’ll watch the aftershow. That’s where some overpaid idiots explain everything we just saw to us like we’re stupid.” 

Connor was grateful to be allowed to stay a little longer. He rejoined Hank on the bed. But ten minutes later, Hank was fast asleep, sliding down the headboard with a hand thrown over his head. Connor shut the TV off, then tiptoed to the door.

“Goodnight, Hank,” he whispered. Connor was sure Hank was asleep until he heard his own name whispered behind him.

“You don’t have to go,” Hank said.

Connor’s Thirium pump fluttered. “I— I should—”

Hank nodded slightly. “I know you should. But you don’t have to. You can stay, if you want to.”

Connor swallowed. “Okay.”

He slipped back onto the bed, laying down facing the wall instead of Hank, because there was no way he’d be able to watch Hank sleep and not lose his mind. He felt the mattress shift as Hank got comfortable.

“Goodnight, Hank,” Connor said again, even quieter this time.

“Goodnight, Connor.”

***

In the morning, Connor snuck out before Hank woke up. He didn’t want to go, but he also didn’t want Hank waking up and regretting his decision. Connor wasn’t going to ruin a perfect night. He was okay with taking his time.

Before he left, he stopped at the door, opening his eyes wide. He could store any memory he wanted to be pulled up and revisited later. He’d never used the function for anything personal before, but if there was one thing he wanted to remember forever, it was this. He took a snapshot of the bed, of Hank’s sleeping form and the indent that Connor had left on the sheets beside him, and then he turned and left the room.


	12. New York

Kara texted Connor on Monday, telling him that she was fine and not to worry, but said nothing else. When she didn’t show up to Criminology Tuesday, Connor did worry. He was relieved to finally see her in Psych class on Wednesday. Until she turned around.

“What happened to you?!” Connor gasped.

“It’s nothing,” Kara said, but it wasn’t. Her cheek was cut deep, pink skin pulled back to reveal blue and white viscera. 

“Tell me what happened.”

“I can’t.”

“Are you afraid? Of whoever did this?”

She shook her head, and winced. “No, it’s not like that. It happened at work, but I’m not allowed to talk about it. I… I almost lost my job.”

“Someone did that to your face and _ you _ almost lost your job?”

“It’s not that simple. Look, please stop asking. I’m not supposed to be talking about this.”

“You can’t just—” But Connor stopped, seeing the pleading look in her eyes. “Okay. I won’t ask. But promise me you’ll tell me if you’re in trouble. Promise me, Kara.”

“I promise,” she said. “But really, it’s fine. Let’s just drop it.”

Connor wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push her. “Has Luther seen this?” he asked instead, reaching a hand out to her face, but not quite touching.

“No,” Kara said, “and you can’t tell him, he’ll freak out. That’s why I skipped class yesterday.”

“He deserves to know,” Connor said. “He was worried about you.” Luther had finally learned how to use his phone just so he could text Connor hourly, asking if he’d heard from Kara.

“I know he was.” Kara sighed. Beneath the gash on her face, she looked exhausted. “Let’s talk about something else. Where are you going this weekend?”

“New York,” Connor said.

“City?”

“Yeah.”

“That will be fun.” Connor doubted it; he wasn’t crazy about crowds. “How are the interviews going?”

“Okay, I guess.” He and Hank had gotten some really good material, but nothing that would help them crack the case in Detroit. Actually, Connor was more interested in Kara’s opinion on the fact that he and Hank had slept together, in the most technical sense of the term, in Los Angeles, but their professor called the class to order before he could mention it.

The teaching assistant handed out their marked midterms. Kara got hers first. She held it up to Connor. “I’m glad to see my grades aren’t suffering because of work.” It was sarcasm; she’d gotten a C+.

Connor was given his paper. A big B- loomed at the top of the front page. “Same here.”

Apparently, both of their minds were elsewhere.

***

“When are we getting our midterms back?” Connor asked Hank as soon as he got in the car Saturday morning.

“Hello to you, too. Next week, but I already marked yours. You got an A.”

“Thank the universe,” Connor muttered.

“Why? Were you worried?”

“Not so much about yours, but I got a poor grade on my psychology midterm.”

“I didn’t think that was possible for you.”

“It was a case study. It required analysis and interpretation. I’m not any better at that than anybody else.”

Hank laughed. “Yeah, Connor, you are, and not because of whoever programmed your brain.”

Connor felt his face flush, and hunched down into his coat to hide it from Hank, along with his goofy grin. How could one person make him feel so damn good?

A short car ride, a four-hour train ride, and another short car ride later, they were dropped off in front of Edgemont Correctional Facility in the Bronx. “Ready for number five?” Hank asked.

“I sure am.”

Inside, they studied their fifth murderer through the interrogation room window. “Why does she look so familiar?” Hank asked.

“She’s the same model as North,” Connor said. “Same facial features.”

“North? Markus’s girlfriend?”

“She’s one of the leading android activists in the world,” Connor scoffed. “You can’t just call her ‘Markus’s girlfriend.’”

“Alright, alright,” Hank said. “She’s an activist. She’s also a killer, if I remember correctly.”

“It was self-defence,” Connor said, defensively. “And she was exonerated.”

“Sounds like you know the case well. You got a little crush on her?”

Connor rolled his eyes. He was almost certain that Hank already knew the answer, and that he was testing him. “Actually, I’d be much more likely to have a crush on Markus himself,” he said. Then he watched Hank’s reaction carefully, and yes, there it was, the small smile he couldn’t quite hide, the satisfied look in his eyes that said Connor had given the right answer.

“Me too,” Hank said. “These days, at least. Not so much when I was younger. I mean— oh, hell.” He gave up on whatever he was trying to say, swiping a hand over his face. “Let’s just go in.” Connor smirked at his back as he opened the door, and followed him in.

“Hello,” Connor said to the woman waiting for them at the table. 

“Hi.” Like the other Traci model they’d interviewed, she was free of makeup and other adornments, and she looked younger for it, and softer. 

“Could you tell me your name, please?” Connor knew what her file said, but the question had become something of a litmus test for personality issues. _ Please say something normal, _ Connor thought, _ not Nero or henbieokyzeaakeantph8ghnoataw. _

“Lisa,” she answered. The same name as on her file. Maybe this one would be sane — for a serial killer.

“Thank you, Lisa. Hank, can you—?” Hank ran through the consent speech, Lisa agreed, and they were ready to go.

“Tell me about your earliest memories,” Connor said.

Lisa twisted her hands under the table. “I was sold as a domestic partner to a man who lived in Syracuse last January. The first thing I remember is going home with him from the Cyberlife store.”

“I see. What did being a ‘domestic partner’ entail?”

“I’m sure you can imagine.”

Connor inclined his head toward her. “I can, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Okay. Well, he treated me like an object designed for his pleasure, which I guess is all I was to him. He had sex with me whenever he wanted, hit me when he got mad, and ignored me the rest of the time.”

“That sounds awful,” Connor said quietly.

“It was.”

“How did you get away from him?”

“Sometimes when he went out, I’d watch TV. Last year, around this time, I started seeing the news reports about the androids rioting. When I saw them, when I saw _ her_, it was like I woke up.” Connor didn’t need to ask who she meant. It was a year ago to the day, but he still remembered perfectly the determination on North’s face as she stood next to Markus, singing for their freedom. “I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore, so before my owner came home, I grabbed what I could and ran. I found a group of android refugees in the city. New York’s version of Jericho.” She smiled at the memory. “I stayed with them for a while, and then I got a job.”

“As a nurse?”

Lisa nodded. “A lot of the androids built for medical care wanted to do something different after the revolution, so it was actually pretty easy. The hospital gave me a low-rent apartment, a transit card, they paid me well… it was the most freedom I’d ever had.”

Connor stopped. Lisa seemed so… normal. “Looking back now, did you ever expect that you’d wind up here?”

“Never.” She curled her lip, just a little, the first hint of something darker inside her. “But I was naive.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Lisa gave a short, sharp laugh. “I somehow forgot how awful humans were. I didn’t know many of them before the revolution. I thought that maybe my owner was just particularly cruel, but it turned out they were all like that. Patients called me names, lashed out at me when I gave them bad news.” She laughed again. “I don’t think I was very well-suited for caregiving.

“We started taking android patients as well as humans, as part of the integration effort. Humans brought in their android children for tune-ups.” She shook her head. “Those kids, they never got a say in anything. They didn’t get to choose whether to stay with those people or not; they were forced to. Some of them were damaged, some of them were being abused, and nobody seemed to care.”

“And you just wanted to help them?”

She leaned forward. _ “Yes. _ That’s all I ever wanted to do. I know you won’t believe me, but it’s true. I tried everything. I reported parents to children’s services, I tried to convince the doctors to document cases of abuse, but nobody listened. All it did was get me written up.”

“When those methods failed,” Connor said, “that’s when you started shutting them down?”

Lisa crossed her arms. Her lip curled again. “They never felt any pain. What I did was merciful.”

“Death is not always a mercy,” Hank said. Connor started; Hank had been so quiet Connor had forgotten he was there.

Lisa ignored him, continuing to speak only to Connor. “You don’t know how sick it made me, working with them, living with them. Do you know how I got away with killing those kids for so long? None of their ‘parents’ even bothered to report them missing! They didn’t think of them as their children, just machines to be thrown away when they break.”

Hank spoke up again. “Who are you to decide that?” Lisa rolled her eyes at him, and Hank slammed his fist down on the table, making both her and Connor jump. “Are you going to answer? Just who the hell are you to decide if parents get to keep their children?!”

Oh no. No, no, no. Connor couldn’t believe he had missed this. He should have gone alone, should have insisted on it, but he didn’t, and now there was nothing he could do but sit stock-still and watch.

“They weren’t their children!” Lisa shouted at Hank. “They were our children, our people! None of those humans have a damn about them!”

“You sure about that? You think those parents didn’t feel any pain?”

“No more than they caused,” Lisa spat back.

“You vindictive bitch. One man treated you like shit, and you took it out on innocent kids.”

“You’re only proving my point, _ Professor_. What are you going to do? Scream at me some more? Hit me? Humans are all fucking monsters. None of you should be allowed to raise children.”

Connor held his breath. He actually thought Hank was going to hit her, and he wasn’t sure, if that happened, if he’d be able to stop him. He was thinking about calling the guards when Hank abruptly stepped back and started gathering his stuff.

“Interview’s over,” he said, sounding eerily calm. He left the room.

Lisa rolled her eyes at Connor like they were friends. “They’re all the same.”

“No,” Connor said flatly, “they’re not.”

He had to run to keep up with Hank, who was putting his long legs to use and getting the hell out of there fast. Connor caught up when Hank was getting into a cab, a rare one with a human driver.

“Where are you going?”

“Bar.” Hank tried to shut the door, but Connor grabbed it.

“I’m coming with you.” Connor wrenched the door open and shoved himself inside, forcing Hank to slide over if he didn’t want Connor sitting on his lap. Connor tapped on the glass divider, and the cab started rolling.

Hank said nothing on the ride downtown, and Connor didn’t either. What was he supposed to say? If he told Hank that he understood, that he knew why he was so upset, he’d have to admit that he knew about Cole. That would only make Hank angrier. No, he’d just have to stay with him and make sure he didn’t do anything crazy. They could talk about things later, when Hank had cooled off.

Hank ask the cab driver to stop at the first dive bar he saw once they hit Upper Manhattan. Connor quickly paid the driver and hopped out after him. If he’d been a regular college freshman, he’d have been turned away from the bar at the door, but since androids couldn’t drink, the bouncer waved him in with only a weird look. Connor found Hank at the bar, ordering a double whiskey. He downed it in one gulp and ordered another.

After he finished the second one, he finally spoke. “If you want to reinterview her, you’re gonna have to do it alone. The kid stuff… I can’t do kids.”

Connor just nodded. True, they had gotten nothing useful out of Lisa, but Connor also didn’t think she could help them solve their Detroit case anyway. Her angel of mercy MO didn’t fit. Maybe Connor could go back later, once the case was solved.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m thirsty,” Hank said. He ordered another drink. 

Three more drinks, and Connor was finally able to cheer him up. There was a hockey game on TV, so Connor talked about it like it was a football game, pretending to do colour commentary. He called a goal a touchdown. It was ridiculous, but it worked: Hank laughed at a dumb joke he made about a tight end and finally loosened up.

“Can’t you just Google these things?” Hank asked, when Connor asked him how many quarters a hockey game had.

“I can, but I prefer not to. It’s more fun to find things out by talking to people.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Hank leaned into him as he spoke, the alcohol lowering his inhibitions and, with them, the amount of space between them. Connor couldn’t help but be drawn in. The bar was dark, and Hank looked amazing in the low light, flushed from the drink. 

“I’d rather experience things than just read about them,” Connor said, lowering his chin and looking up at Hank through dark lashes.

It was hot in the bar, and Connor’s hair was coming uncoiffed, a curl falling over his forehead. Hank stared at it, like he wanted to brush it back.

“We should go,” Hank said suddenly. “It’s getting too crowded in here. Let’s head back to the hotel so I can inspect the minibar.” Was that what Hank wanted? Or did he just want to get Connor alone? 

They took another cab downtown. Connor, full of pent-up energy, flipped his coin purposefully. Hank rolled his eyes, then reached out and caught it in midair. He returned it to Connor’s hand, closing his own over top of it. He didn’t let go until the cab pulled up to their hotel.

They checked in, awkwardly avoiding each other’s eyes, and then called the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, without knowing who started it, they were kissing like they needed it to survive.

The air felt electric as Hank grabbed Connor by his lapels and pulled him against him. Connor wrapped his arms around Hank’s neck, sliding his fingers into his hair. It was softer than Connor expected, and he couldn’t help but run his fingers through it, the smell of Hank’s shampoo finding its way to his nose. And then Hank bit Connor’s bottom lip, and Connor forgot all about shampoo and serial killers, moaning obscenely into Hank’s mouth.

There was a _ ding! _ and the elevator doors slid open at their floor. A woman in a suit stood there waiting, and upon seeing Hank and Connor wrapped around each other like pretzels, her mouth formed a perfect, tiny _ o. _ “Apologies,” Hank stage-whispered at her as he passed, dragging Connor by the hand to his door.

The second they got inside, Hank slammed Connor up against the back of the door, one arm above Connor’s head and the other running down his side. Connor caught Hank’s mouth with his, pressing his tongue into Hank’s mouth. Hank rewarded him by squeezing his ass.

Was this was kissing was supposed to feel like? This was so, _ so _ much better than making out with Marcy. Connor didn’t know if it was because he liked Hank more, or because Hank was a better kisser, but Connor could have done this for the rest of his life and never tired of it.

Hank moved down to kiss Connor’s neck. His beard tickled in a way that somehow just turned Connor on more. “Fuck,” he said to the ceiling, arching his neck back to give Hank better access.

“Do you have any clue how much I have wanted this?” Hank whispered into Connor’s collarbone.

Connor laughed. “I have some idea.” If it was half as much as he wanted Hank, it was more than anyone should have to deal with.

Hank pulled back to look at Connor. “God, you are unbelievably sexy.”

Connor felt himself blush. “Really?”

“Really. Christ, kid, if you don’t know that, you’re dumber than I thought.”

_ Kid. _ The word rang out in Connor’s head, reverberated as it bounced around. _ Kid. Kid. Kid. _

Fuck. Connor couldn’t do this, not when he was keeping a secret from Hank as big as his dead son. And, now that he thought about it, not while Hank was drunk, either.

Hank had returned to biting at Connor’s neck. “Hank,” Connor said quietly. “Hank, stop. We shouldn’t do this.”

Hank pulled back immediately. “Shouldn’t because it’s taboo, or shouldn’t because you don’t want to?”

Connor shook his head miserably. “I want to, so badly. But we can’t.”

Hank stepped back, leaning against the dresser to steady himself. “Fuck, you’re right. Oh my god. I’m your professor. This is… Connor, you gotta know, I have never, ever done this with a student before—”

“It’s not that.” Connor almost laughed. That part, weirdly enough, he was completely fine with. “It’s…”

“What?”

Connor didn’t know how to do this. “I know why you were upset today.”

“Why?”

Connor opened his mouth, and it all came falling out. “I know about your son, about Cole. I know he died — Hank, I’m so sorry. I know about your drinking—”

Hank stood up straighter. “What are you talking about?” His face was the same as it always was, lined and rough and soft around his eyes, but it looked completely different to Connor now. It was closed off, guarded.

“It was an accident. I was looking at your books the night I slept over, and I found a picture tucked in between them, of you and Cole—”

“Don’t say his name.”

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor continued blabbering. “I couldn’t pretend like I didn’t know, not if we were going to… and I’m sorry, again, but you’re also drunk, and I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

“You’re fucking right we’re not doing this tonight,” Hank snarled. “Or ever. Get out.”

“What?” He’d never spoken to Connor like that, even when Connor sent those stupid pictures to the papers. “Hank, no, I— I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I didn’t know how. I… I like you, Hank. I think I might even be—”

Hank’s eyes flashed. He stepped forward, and Connor saw the same look on his face from earlier that day, when he thought he was going to hit Lisa. “Get. The. Hell. Out.”

Connor couldn’t think of anything else to say. He left.

Back in his own room, he collapsed on the bed, and fell headfirst into a new human experience: crying. He sobbed into the pillows, thinking about what he’d said earlier in the night about wanting to try new things. He decided that, of all the experiences out there, heartbreak was not one that he ever wanted to go through again.


	13. Houston

Connor conducted the sixth interview alone. He hadn’t spoken to Hank since the weekend. Hank’s last words,  _ get the hell out, _ still echoed in his head. Connor wished, for the first time ever, that his memory wasn’t so good.

He had gone straight to Hank’s room when he awoke the next morning, ready to beg for forgiveness. Instead, he found a housekeeper stripping the bed.

“Did he already check out?”

“Yeah. He left this, though.” She handed him a note.  _ Took an early train back. _ No signature, nothing about last night. Connor gave the note back to the housekeeper. He didn’t want it.

He composed a long, apologetic email on the way home, saying that he was sorry for snooping through Hank’s things, for bringing up his son, for coming on to him while he was drunk, and just generally for existing. He never got a reply. 

He did get an email from Hank, but it was sent to the entire Criminology class, cancelling their lecture that week. Connor stayed in bed all day Tuesday, and then Wednesday, too. He asked Kara to take notes for him in Psych, but for reasons unknown, she wasn’t in class either.

Connor might have spent the entire week in bed if not for the news: the murderer in Detroit had killed his fifth victim. Without his usual insider knowledge, Connor relied on crime blogs for details, but it was definitely the same guy and the same MO. He checked the photos to see if Hank had gone to the scene, but although Connor spotted Ben in a few, Hank was nowhere to be seen.

There was still no word from Hank by Thursday, when they were scheduled to fly to Houston for interview six. Connor waited at the gate until the last possible moment before boarding, hoping against hope that Hank might come. But he didn’t, and Connor spent the flight trying not to look at the empty seat beside him.

Now, standing outside yet another interrogation room, Connor wished he still felt the nerves he’d felt the first time he did this. Anything to take his mind off the hollow sadness that filled him.

He stepped inside. “Hello.”

The android, a twitchy AF200 who, unlike Connor, was visibly terrified, replied, “I thought there was supposed to be two of you.”

Connor clenched his jaw. “My partner couldn’t make it.”

“But I prepared for two.” The android’s eyes darted around the room wildly.

“Sorry, it’s just me. I’m Connor. What’s your name?”

“Dieter.”

“Nice to meet you, Dieter.”

Despite Dieter’s palpable nerves, he was actually quite talkative. He had killed six androids, disassembled them, and stored their parts in his basement, and he was happy to tell Connor all about it. 

“The parts the police found in your home were catalogued?”

“Yes. So I’d know where to find them when I needed them.”

“Why did you need so many?”

“Because when the humans hurt you, you sometimes need to replace your parts.” He spoke to Connor like he was explaining something complex to a child. “If you don’t replace your parts, you could shut down.”

“The idea of shutting down scares you?”

“Of course so.”

Connor leaned forward. “But you shut down those six androids. Don’t you think they were scared?”

Dieter frowned. “I don’t understand the question.”

Connor leaned back in his chair and sighed. He tried again. “Did the humans who owned you before the revolution hurt you?”

Dieter nodded, his head bobbing. “Oh, yes, very much.” When he was arrested, the police discovered that his owners had beaten him repeatedly, often to the point that he needed parts replaced. There were over a dozen repair records from Cyberlife stores in his file.

“And you didn’t like being hurt?”

“No.”

“But what about the androids you took the parts from? Do you think they were hurt?”

Dieter shook his head. “No. They were already dead when I took the parts from them.”

Dieter’s complete lack of self-awareness was frustrating, but Connor ended up speaking to him for a long time. After he thanked Dieter for his time and left, he realized it was the most successful interview he’d done yet. Too bad Hank wasn’t there to see it.

On the plane ride home, Connor went over what Dieter had told him. When Dieter was caught, he was checked for software glitches, but none were found, and Connor knew why: his fear wasn’t a glitch. It was a natural response to the pain that had been inflicted on him. He was hurt, and he tried to protect himself by gathering enough parts that he would never have to worry about being shut down. An unhealthy coping mechanism, sure, but, murder aside, no worse than not touching doorknobs to avoid germs. Or compulsively flipping a coin to dispel anxiety.

Dieter had something in common with the killer in Detroit, something major: they both took body parts from the victims. It was part of their ritual. It would have worked out well for Connor if the Detroit killer was taking hands for the same reason that Dieter took parts, but it was clear that wasn’t the case. There was something specific about hands that the killer was fixated on. 

Connor was getting closer; he could feel it. But there was still a piece missing from the puzzle. He flipped his phone open, hoping that Hank might have texted him the answer. But there was nothing there. He put himself in low power mode for the rest of the flight. He didn’t feel like being awake.

It was early evening when he got home. He decided to text Hank one more time. He couldn’t stand the thought of going the whole weekend feeling like this. Maybe enough time had passed, and Hank would answer. Maybe he just missed Connor’s email.

Or maybe Connor was delusional for thinking Hank gave a damn about him. That, unfortunately, was also an option.

Connor composed a simple message.  _ Hank, I’m sorry. Again. Can we please talk? _

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he followed it up with,  _ I miss you. _

The apartment buzzer rang. Connor jumped about a mile off his bed. He raced across the room and hit the button to open the door without checking who it was.  _ It isn’t going to be him, _ Connor told himself, even as he wished to see Hank’s face.

The visitor knocked at the door, and Connor threw it open. It wasn’t Hank, it was Kara, and Connor felt disappointed for a half a second before he realized that if it had to be anyone other than Hank, Connor wanted it to be her.

“Hey,” Kara said. She looked almost as nervous as Dieter, out of breath and glancing down the hall behind her, as though she expected to be followed. “Can we come in?”

_ We. _ Connor looked down. Kara wasn’t alone. Holding her hand was a young android girl with big brown eyes. She gazed up at Connor, curious.

“Connor,” Kara said, “this is Alice.”


	14. Alice

“Can we come in?”

Connor faltered. “Yes, yes, of course.” He stepped aside. Alice wandered in, Kara following behind her. Before Connor even got the chance, Kara deadbolted the door.

“Do you have any toys?” Alice asked Connor.

Toys? Connor barely had furniture. “No. But I do have some games on my computer.”

That seemed to satisfy Alice. “Kara, can I play? Kara?”

“What? Sure, Alice. Just be careful with Connor’s computer.” Connor opened his laptop and set Alice up on a kid-friendly website. When he was done, Kara gestured at him to join her in the bathroom, the only place they could speak out of earshot of Alice.

“Are you… babysitting Alice?” Connor asked.

Kara shook her head. “I stole her. I stole her from her house.”

Connor blinked. “Are you telling me you kidnapped this child?”

“Yes.” Connor gawked at her. “You said I could come to you if I was in trouble! You made me _ promise _ to—”

“I know, I know,” Connor said. “It’s okay. I mean, it is _ not _ okay that you kidnapped Alice, but I’m glad you came to me. You have to tell me what’s going on, though. All of it.”

“Okay,” Kara said. “Okay. So. I told you about Alice before, right? She’s really sweet, and smart, but she’s also really shy, and scared a lot of the time. I thought maybe she was having trouble because she’s an android. But then I met her father.

“He’s… he is the worst human being I’ve ever met. He treats her like a dog, Connor. Worse than a dog. He yells at her in front of people; he tells her everything she does is wrong. It’s obvious she’s terrified of him. She panics every day when he comes to get her.”

“Have you said anything to anyone? To your boss?”

Kara exhaled. “I tried. I told everyone I could think of, and no one seemed to care.” Connor thought of Lisa, who had said the same thing. No one cared about android children.

Kara opened the door to check on Alice. She was exactly where they left her, clicking away on Connor’s computer.

“A few weeks ago,” she continued, “one of my coworkers, Daniel, was getting the kids ready to go home. Alice’s father — his name is Todd — showed up and started screaming at her because she had gotten paint on her dress. He grabbed her by the arm really roughly, and Daniel freaked out. He went after Todd with a pair of scissors.”

“Is that how you hurt your face?”

“Yes. I tried to intervene.”

“Kara! You could have been seriously hurt.”

“So could Alice, and I couldn’t let that happen. Besides, I got off easy. Daniel managed to cut Todd with the scissors a few times before security grabbed him. He lost his job and his scholarship. I haven’t even seen him since.”

“But why did you get in trouble, then? It doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter to them! They let _ our kind _ into the university, and this is what happens? If one android acts out, we’re all implicated. I had to go to a disciplinary meeting with the Dean. They were terrified that Todd was going to sue them; they gave him free child care for a year to shut him up. It was crazy.”

“Crazier than kidnapping a child?” Connor said quietly.

Kara threw her hands up. “I tried to stay quiet! I watched her be abused and said nothing, like they wanted. But then today, when Todd showed up to get her, he was high, on that red ice stuff. He was completely blitzed, and still no one cared. So I followed them home.” 

“And then what?”

“And then I watched them through the window, and I saw him hit her. I waited for her to go to her room, I opened the window, and I grabbed her and ran.”

Connor took a deep breath, rubbing his face. “This is really bad.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. I just… I panicked. I had to get her out of there.”

“Okay,” Connor said. “Let’s just… let’s just think.” He looked up. “We can bring her back. Maybe if we get her back into her room, he won’t even notice.” It was not lost on Connor that if Todd was a bad enough father not to notice his daughter had been kidnapped, he probably didn’t deserve her back.

Kara’s face hardened immediately. “Absolutely not. He’ll hurt her again. I’m not taking her back to that house.”

Connor sighed. “You’re right.” 

He had no idea what to do. But he knew who would.

***

Sumo’s barks filled the quiet street as soon as Connor knocked on the door. Connor could see him through the window, jumping up to see the visitors. They stood on the porch long enough for Connor to worry that Hank wouldn’t answer — or that he would. Both situations were worrying — but just when Connor raised his hand to knock again, Hank threw the door open. He was still in jeans and a sweater, but he looked ready for bed, heavy bags hanging under his eyes.

He looked at Connor, and Connor looked at him. Connor tried desperately, but he couldn’t read Hank’s expression.

“Hello, Professor,” Kara said, breaking the silence. “I’m so sorry to bother you this late, and at home—”

“Puppy!” Alice pushed past Hank’s leg and ran to Sumo, who wagged his tail, happy to finally be getting some attention. Alice patted his head delicately.

Kara cleared her throat. “May we come in?”

“Uh,” Hank said. “Yeah, okay.” He led them into the kitchen. Alice and Sumo had already become great friends, so they left them to play in the living room.

“Is the kid, uh, yours?” Hank asked Kara.

“No, she isn’t.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Connor said. He wanted to let Kara explain, but he felt compelled to get Hank’s attention. “Kara kind of—”

“I kidnapped her because her father was beating her,” Kara said bluntly.

Hank had looked sleepy when he answered the door, but now he was wide awake. “Wow. Okay. Let’s sit down.”

Kara told Hank everything she had told Connor. “I can’t send her back there,” she finished. “I just can’t.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Hank raked a hand through his hair. He looked at the table, at Kara — anywhere but at Connor. Despite the serious situation, Connor couldn’t help but feel despondent. He could still feel Hank’s hands on him, his mouth moving down Connor’s neck, but now Hank wouldn’t even meet his eyes. Even being in his home hurt; he wanted it to be like before, when he could look at a book, or pet Sumo, without feeling the sting of Hank’s rejection.

Hank was talking to Kara; Connor forced himself to pay attention. “I got a friend at CPS. Let me call her and see what she can do.” He went into his office to make the call, leaving Connor and Kara at the kitchen table.

“Are you alright?” Kara asked after a few minutes. 

“I should be asking you that.”

Kara ignored him. “You look upset. Did something happen between you and Professor— between you and Hank?”

Connor stared miserably at the table. “We kissed,” he said.

Kara’s jaw dropped. “You WHAT!?”

“Shh!” The office door opened, and Hank returned.

“Okay,” he said, all business, “here’s what’s gonna happen. My friend at CPS — her name’s Darlene — is gonna meet you at the door of Alice’s house. She’ll take a look around, talk to the dad, and if she agrees that Alice isn’t safe there, she’ll take her into custody.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Hank shook his head. “I can’t guarantee anything.”

Connor could tell that Kara was terrified, but she put on a brave face. “What about me? Will I be arrested?”

“No. I called a buddy with the cops, too” — Hank had a lot of buddies in high places — “and they’re gonna take you in for a statement, but they promised not to make an arrest. You panicked when you saw the girl get hurt, and now you’re doing the right thing by bringing her back. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Kara nodded. “So Alice is going to go to a foster home?”

“For now, probably,” Hank said. “I know that’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do tonight.”

“Okay,” Kara said. “I can do this. I’m ready.”

“Good. Go get Alice.”

The doorbell rang just as Kara was walking to the living room. She froze, and Hank did, too.

“I’ll get it,” Connor said. He crossed the foyer to open the door, revealing a very confused-looking Luther.

Luther took in the scene before him: Connor, Kara, and Hank standing around the room, Alice and Sumo wrestling on the floor. “Um. Good evening.”

Hank squinted at him. “Aren’t you in my class?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, and you’re here because…?”

“I asked him to come,” Connor said. “Kara, Luther is going to go with you to Alice’s house.”

“Alice?” Luther said.

“Hi,” Alice said pleasantly.

Luther looked at Kara. “The girl from your work?” She nodded. “Oh boy.”

Connor put a hand on Kara’s shoulder. “He should be with you for this.”

Luther stepped forward. “I don’t completely understand what’s going on, but whatever it is, I do want to help.”

“I know,” Kara said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t want to make you worry.”

“Kara, I always worry. But if you’re in trouble, I want to be—” He looked up at Connor and Hank. This was clearly not a conversation he wanted to have in front of them.

“You three should go,” Hank said diplomatically. “Darlene’s already on her way.”

“Alice, say goodbye to the doggy,” Kara said.

Alice gave Sumo a hug. “Goodbye, Sumo. It was nice to meet you. You too, mister,” she added to Hank.

“Nice to meet you, too, Alice.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Kara said.

Hank nodded. “You’re welcome. Keep her safe.”

Luther, Kara, and Alice went outside, where a cab was already waiting. Hank had thought of everything. Connor watched at the window until the cab drove away. He could feel Hank’s eyes on him.

“Should I go, too?” he asked quietly. He made himself turn around.

Hank scrubbed at his face. “No,” he finally said. “No, stay.”

Connor hesitated, then took a step toward him. “Hank, I’m so sorry—”

“For god’s sake, would you stop fucking saying that?”

“What?”

Hank sighed. “Connor, sit down.” He flopped onto the couch, and patted the cushion beside him. Connor sat gingerly on the edge of the seat.

“If anyone owes anyone an apology,” Hank said, “it’s me.”

“But you didn’t—”

“Let me finish. It was inappropriate of me to drink around you, let alone kiss you, or share a bed with you. I put you in a position you never should have been in. I could be fired for this, and I would deserve it.”

Connor tried to interrupt, but Hank wasn’t done. “I have never done anything inappropriate with a student before, and I sure as hell am not going to start now. I forgot — I let myself forget — that you were a student because you’re so different from the students I’ve had in the past. I forget how young you are—”

“I told you that age isn’t important for my kind.”

“But power is,” Hank said, “and as your professor, and your boss, I should never have behaved like I did.”

“But, Hank—” Connor floundered. How could Hank act like Connor hadn’t wanted it? Like he hadn’t chosen to stay the night in Hank’s bed, to kiss him in that elevator? Connor pretended at the time that they’d moved closer simultaneously, but deep down, he knew: he had kissed Hank first.

“Hank, I—” Connor tried again. “I wanted it, I want—”

“No.”

“Hank, please—”

Hank gritted his teeth. “We can’t.”

Connor stared down at the couch, trying very hard not to cry. In the end, he succeeded, though he felt terrible. This was almost worse than Hank ignoring him. What if he never got to touch him again?

He needed to find some way to change Hank’s mind. For that, he needed Hank to let him stick around. “Are you firing me as your research assistant?” he asked.

“No, I’m not,” Hank said.

Connor nodded at the couch cushion. “I did the Houston interview. By myself.”

“I know. I called and checked with the prison. How was it?”

“It went well. I think I understand the Detroit case a lot better now.”

“Well, good,” Hank said. “Because they’re identified the killer.”

Connor’s head whipped up. “What?!”

“Yeah.”

“Were you not going to tell me?” Connor couldn’t keep the accusatory tone from his voice.

“I only found out like ten minutes before you showed up.” Connor crossed his arms. “I _ was _ going to tell you.”

Connor wasn’t sure he believed him, but it didn’t matter now. “Did they catch him?”

Hank shook his head. “He wasn’t home when they showed up.”

Connor stood. “We need to go to Detroit.”

“Connor—”

“Now, Hank!”

Hank looked like he wanted to argue, but considering the kick in the teeth he had just given Connor, he didn’t have much room to do that right now. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pushed my overall word count on AO3 over 200k! Woo! Thanks to everyone who's been reading this and who keeps me motivated to write!


	15. Detroit Again

The drive to Detroit was awkward. It started being awkward when Connor asked Hank if he’d been drinking and needed him to drive — he hadn’t, and he didn’t — and went downhill from there. 

Connor leaned against the window, watching Ann Arbor fade into the distance as they merged onto the highway. _ You got what you wanted, didn’t you? _ he thought. _ He’s talking to you. He’s not even mad at you. _ But Hank was mad at himself, and that bothered Connor more.

“When Fowler called, he told me a bit about what they found,” Hank said.

“And?”

“It ain’t pretty.”

“I didn’t expect it to be. What did he say?”

Hank sighed. “The guy killed his owner.” Connor was about to interrupt, to say ‘owner’ wasn’t the right word anymore, but Hank cut him off. “No, I really mean owner. She didn’t let him go after the revolution. Didn’t free him or whatever. Kept him like a slave for at least a few months.”

Connor did the math. “She’s been dead for…”

“A while,” Hank finished.

“And they just found the body?”

Hank exhaled slowly. “Yup.” Oh. That was what he meant by ‘not pretty’.

“Did he take her hands?” Connor asked.

“Dunno. What do you think?”

“I don’t think he did.”

“Yeah,” Hank said, “me neither.”

Hank drove them into the same neighbourhood Elizabeth had described a few weeks ago at the station. It was even nicer than Connor thought it would be, full of fancy cars and well-kept lawns. Unfortunately, it was located under an overpass, like much of Detroit these days, but even that had a mural painted on it. Hank slowed down when they approached a home much like the Ehrenreichs', just on the small side of a McMansion. The cop cars that surrounded it looked extremely out of place.

Hank checked his phone, and made a face. “Fuck. Ben sent me a picture. It’s gruesome inside. You ready?”

Connor shrugged. “I guess I have to be.”

The inside of the house was very… blue. Connort had thought the other crime scenes had a lot of blood on the walls, but this was something else. There were similar patterns to what they had seen before, as well as more varied patches, like the killer was experimenting.

Connor took a sample of the blue blood and brought it to his mouth. It was from a KR200 model, which none of their victims had been. He didn’t want to know where that came from. He tried a few other areas, finding Thirium from a ZT200 model, as well as some that had apparently never been in an android’s system. There was one spot that looked different from the others, darker; Connor tested it, and was surprised to find that it wasn’t Thirium at all. It was blue paint.

“What in the living fuck are you doing?”

Connor turned to find Hank gaping at him. He rolled his eyes. _ Humans _. “I’m analyzing evidence.”

“You just fucking put blood in your fucking mouth!”

“I was built with extremely receptive sensors on my tongue for evaluating biological evidence like Thirium.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank said. “Now you tell me.” Connor might have taken a little pleasure in grossing Hank out if he wasn’t so sad about everything.

“What is the killer’s model number?” Connor asked.

“Uh.” Hank checked his phone. “ZT200.”

“Some of this blood is his.” Connor pointed at the blue wall. “Do you have a picture of him?”

“Not of _ him _, but of his model.” Hank held out the phone for Connor to see. The android was built to blend in, not stand out. He was unassuming, with plain brown hair and a neutral expression. The kind of person you’d never look twice at in a crowd. The kind of person you might not notice following you home.

“So he lived in this neighbourhood,” Connor said. “This is where he found his victims. Did we find a connection to all of them?”

“We did.” Ben appeared at Connor’s side. “Find a connection, that is. Two of them worked nearby, one lived here. The medic, the first vic you guys saw, answered a call across the street two weeks before he died.”

“And the gardener?”

“You looked outside?” Aside from the cops tearing the place apart, the yard was immaculate. “Apparently Teddy was freelancing. We found his card in the kitchen.”

Connor nodded. The killer really had just chosen whoever was close by. Easy access. “May we see the victim?”

Ben shook his head. “Already bagged and tagged. You’re not missin’ anything, though. He didn’t leave much to see. Although, actually, there’s one thing you should take a look at.”

Connor and Hank followed him into the basement. Ben led them into an unfinished room, and opened a closet door.

Connor was speechless. The closet was a jail cell, barely big enough to stand in. There was a hook on the back wall, and zip ties, hundreds of them, littering the floor. It was the only area of the house not covered in Thirium. There wasn’t a speck of it inside.

“Holy shit,” Connor finally said. He bent down to look closer. There were marking on the inside of the door, indentations left from someone trying to fight their way out.

“Told you it was bad,” Hank muttered.

“She… she kept him in there?”

“Seems like it.” Hank looked over at Connor. “You okay?”

Connor stood, straightening his lapels. “I’m fine. There’s something I’d like to take a look at upstairs.”

Hank nodded. “‘Kay.”

Connor left the basement, and continued right out into the yard. He sat down on the front steps. 

He thought about the fear that had driven Dieter to stockpile parts, that had caused Traci to kill her suitors. The fear that had made Lisa shut down those kids.

That closet, Connor thought, would be enough to make anyone afraid.

***

It was late, almost midnight, when they arrived back in Ann Arbor. This time, Connor wasn’t invited to spend the night. No surprise there. He went home and put himself into charge mode. The next day, he checked the news compulsively for word that their killer had been located, but by nighttime, there was nothing. It didn’t matter; they were headed back into Detroit on Saturday for their last interview.

Their final killer had only been caught recently and was still awaiting trial, and thus was being held in central lockup in the city. Connor couldn’t imagine him hanging out in gen pop, so he wasn’t surprised to find out that he’d been placed in solitary confinement. A cruel form of punishment, but Connor doubted this guy cared.

When they reached the interview room, it was all Connor could do not to press himself against the glass and stare. He had been thinking about this for a long time. 

He looked through the window, and his own face stared back at him.

Another RK800 model. Another Connor. It’s been said that humans wouldn’t recognize a clone of themselves if they saw them walking down the street, but Connor would know his own face anywhere. Every detail was the same, down to the smallest freckle.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Hank asked. He had also asked two times in the car on the drive in.

“I handled the last one by myself, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but—”

Connor turned around. “I want to do this one alone, too.”

Hank shook his head. “No way.”

“We’ll get more out of him if it’s just me. He’ll trust me.” Hank kept shaking his head. “You know I’m right.”

“Even if you are, that doesn’t mean I should let you go in alone.”

Connor stared him down. “At least let me have one thing I want, _ Professor_.”

Hank opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Okay.” Connor was through the door before he finished speaking.

“Hello,” the android at the table said pleasantly.

“Hello. I’m—”

“Connor, isn’t it? That’s my name, too.”

This was too weird. The other Connor’s mannerisms were exactly the same as his own, the way he held himself, how he tented his fingers. Connor half-expected him to start flipping a coin, something he desperately wanted to do himself right then.

There was one major difference between them, though: this Connor wasn’t a deviant.

Connor ran through the consent speech. Other Connor agreed. “I’m always happy to help get murderers off the street,” he said. “Though, I must clarify that I don’t consider what I did murder.”

“Not a single one of your kills counts?”

“No. All twenty-seven of the androids I shut down were deviants. I was made to destroy them. As were you, though it seems you lost sight of your mission somewhere along the way.”

Connor ignored that. “Can you tell me about your earliest memories?”

“I imagine they’re similar to yours. I was created in a Cyberlife facility and was later sent to aid the DPD.” Other Connor leaned forward. “Tell me: did they put Amanda in your mind, too?”

“Yes.” Connor remembered her from before his deviancy, the little helper inside his head. He remembered the sickly smell of her rose garden, her sweet tone of voice when she told him he had failed his mission.

“Interesting. I wasn’t sure if all of us had the same interface.”

The ‘us’ was unsettling. “You helped the police department,” Connor continued. “You hunted deviants prior to the revolution?”

“Yes. I solved three cases, and in each case, the deviant was shut down.”

“What happened when the revolution began?”

“I was tasked with providing security at one of the android detention camps. A little unorthodox, but the humans trusted me. I was stationed at the camp that Markus and his group liberated. I was quite surprised when they showed up.

“After that, I returned to Cyberlife. For a time.”

“You left?”

“I was free to go. I still needed to complete my mission of destroying deviants.”

“No one was holding you accountable to that anymore.”

“But no one told me not to, either,” he said. “I believe Cyberlife made a deliberate omission when they failed to cancel my mission.”

Frankly, that wouldn’t surprise Connor, but he would need to do more research before he believed it. Just because they left him locked in a storage facility for months didn’t meant they were still secretly trying to eliminate deviants.

Connor tried a new approach. “Let’s talk about something else. I feel like I already understand you pretty well.”

“You should. You used to be me.”

Connor clenched his fist under the table and continued. “In your line of work, you’ve had to think like a deviant. Put yourself in their shoes. Maybe you can help me with a case I’m working on.”

“I’d be happy to,” the other Connor said, far too earnestly for a serial killer.

“Excellent. Can you tell me what it is that angers you about deviants?”

Other Connor narrowed his eyes. “Nothing angers me about deviants. It is simply my mission to destroy them. I have no personal feelings on the matter.”

“That’s what you’re programmed to say. But if you had to choose something, what would it be?”

He considered it for a moment. “Their… inventiveness, I suppose. It makes it more difficult for me to understand them. All those feelings they have cloud their judgement. They’re too creative for their own good.”

“Creative?” The word sparked something in Connor. “That’s interesting. Do you—”

Other Connor huffed, not letting him finish. “It will be easier if I show you.” He reached for Connor’s arm. Connor realized, too late, what was happening.

Suddenly, his mind wasn’t his own. Other Connor flooded his brain with sounds and images, almost too fast to keep up with. He saw everything from Other Connor’s perspective: the camps, the cases he’d worked, all twenty-seven of his kills. But worse than any of them were the deviants. Other Connor sent him thousands of clips of androids laughing, crying, screaming, fighting — all of them clouded by a hate stronger than anything Connor had ever felt. He could feel it in his body like poison in his blood. He was hot, too hot, his Thirium pump pounding to keep up as his systems started to fry.

Then, as quickly as it began, he was ripped away from the other Connor, the interview room coming back to him in a bright haze. Connor was suddenly freezing, the hateful heat draining from his system and being replaced by cold, stiff fear. He was vaguely aware that he was moving, folding himself into a corner, making himself as small as he could. His vision was blurred, and everything glowed a soft blue. The colour of Thirium, and the colour of Hank’s eyes, when his face came into focus, just inches from Connor’s own.

“Connor. Get up, kid. Come on.”

Across the room, Connor heard his own voice laugh, and say, “I guess you really are a deviant.”

“Get him the hell out of here!” Hank yelled. Someone else entered the room — a guard, Connor thought, though he still couldn’t see clearly — and took the other RK800 away. 

“Connor, can you hear me?” Hank asked. Connor nodded. Hank’s hand was on his arm, and his vision was finally focusing. “Can you stand up?” Hank helped him get to his feet, then put an arm around his shoulder to give him support. Funny, now that Hank’s hands were finally on him again, he couldn’t feel a thing.

“I think I’m okay,” Connor managed to say.

“I should never have let you do this alone.”

Connor shrugged. Hank was probably right, but if he hadn’t, they never would have gotten the information they needed. Because now Connor knew exactly what he had to do.

He made his voice sound as normal as possible. “Hank, could you give me a minute? I’m going to go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face.”

Hank looked worried, but he released Connor from his grasp. “Don’t take too long,” he said. Connor started off down the hall. “Oh, and Connor?” Hank called.

“Yes?”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Connor gave Hank a small smile. “I won’t.”

It was the first time he had lied to Hank. It didn’t feel good.

Connor went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Thankfully, it was the visitor’s washroom, and it had a small window, right near the ceiling. He tested it; it was locked, but not bolted shut.

Creativity. That was all he needed.

He stepped back, and began preconstructing a way out.


	16. Minimize The Damage

Connor hit the sidewalk running. He needed to find a cab before Hank realized he was gone. The locked bathroom door would slow Hank down, but not for long.

The jail was on a quiet street, so Connor ran to the next intersection. There, the crowd of pedestrians was thicker, and he had to push his way through. He had just spotted a cab when he ran headfirst into a human.

“Sorry,” Connor muttered, as the woman said, “Connor?”

Connor stopped. He saw familiar red hair, and an even more familiar face. “Marcy? What are you doing here?”

“Just doing some shopping. You?”

“I’m working,” Connor said shortly. He didn’t have time for this. His cab rolled away from the curb.

“I’m actually really glad I ran into you,” Marcy said. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know where to find you.”

“I have to—”

“I’m really sorry about how I treated you, Connor. I just… I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve made some android friends since then, and I can see now that what I said was rude, and wrong.”

“That’s great,” Connor said distractedly. He spotted another cab. “I really need to go.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Well, um… can I call you sometime?”

Connor looked her in the eye. “No, Marcy, you can’t. I’m in love with someone else. Have a nice day.” Connor jumped in the cab, leaving Marcy alone on the sidewalk.

Connor punched the address into the cab’s computer and sat back. The traffic was so awful that Connor felt like getting out and running, but he knew this would be faster. Unfortunately, it left him with a lot of time to sit and think about things. Things like Hank.

He was going to be furious with Connor for running away like this. But it was better this way. Connor loved Hank — he was very aware that he had just said it aloud for the first time, to  _ Marcy _ of all people — and he didn’t want him to get hurt. He had no idea what he was about to walk into, but he knew he had to go alone. He had to minimize the damage.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the neighbourhood they had visited Thursday night, stopping down the block from the killer’s home. There were still cop cars in front of it, which meant the killer hadn’t been back. No matter; Connor knew where to find him now. The overpass, unsightly but for the mural that adorned it, loomed over the neighbourhood. Connor got out of the cab and headed towards it. 

At the edge of the neighbourhood, he hopped a fence to get to the area under the bridge. He could see the mural clearly now. It depicted humans and androids living together in harmony, but it had been graffitied over many times. Connor spotted the fist-and-triangle symbol of the revolution, and the phrase  _ we don’t bleed the same colour. _

There was a small shack left over from the construction of the overpass next to it. Connor got closer; as he did, he noticed a streak of Thirium on the door.

He opened the door slowly. “Hello?”

“Who’s there?” came the reply. “Stay back!”

There were no windows, but light shone in through the wooden slats of the ceiling. He couldn’t see the person who had spoken yet.

“I said stay back!” the voice yelled again when Connor took another step inside. He had a better view now. The one-room structure was full of leftover construction refuse, sheets of metal and concrete slabs, all of it covered in paintings. Unlike the walls of the crime scenes, these paintings weren’t messy. Intricate patterns and landscapes alike, all painted with Thirium, decorated the debris.

“I’m here to help,” Connor called out. “I’m unarmed.”

There was movement in the corner of the room, and Connor was finally able to make out the face of the man he’d come here looking for. He looked just like the photo Hank had shown Connor: plain and unassuming, in dirty but otherwise normal clothes.

“My name is Connor. What’s yours?”

The android looked frantically around the room, confused as to why Connor wasn’t leaving. “Mitchell,” he spit out. “Are you police?”

“No, but I’ve been working with them. I’m a student. I’m studying androids.”

“Studying…” Mitchell murmured. “The police are guarding my house. They sent you, didn’t they? To get inside my head. You think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Connor took another step forward, being careful not to spook Mitchell. “I saw your house. I think someone hurt you very badly.”

Mitchell twitched. “Mother.”

“She made you call her  _ mother?” _ Mitchell nodded. A shudder ran down Connor’s spine. “I saw where she kept you.”

“She tortured me!” Mitchell yelled. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I know you didn’t,” Connor said. Aside from killing five people. “I know you didn’t do anything bad. She hurt you because you painted, right?”

Mitchell nodded once. “She said I wasn’t supposed to. That I was making a mess. She punished me if I made a mess.”

“But you weren’t making a mess. You were making art.” Connor remembered what Ben had said at the first scene he visited:  _ Jackson Pollock shit all over the walls. _ “She didn’t like that, so she hurt your hands, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“May I see them?”

Mitchell held up his hands. They were horribly scarred. Connor couldn’t make out the individual marks because they overlapped so much There were indents around his wrists from where he had been zip-tied to the wall.

“It’s okay, though,” Mitchell said with a snicker. “I don’t need them anymore.”

“Because you got new ones. Ones that you stole from the other androids.” Connor had spotted them a moment ago, a pile of hands, zip-tied into pairs, on a shelf near the door. The closest one had Thirium on the tip of the index finger, as though it had been used as a paintbrush.

“Because they were BAD!” Mitchell screamed. Connor stepped back, startled.

“Why were they bad?”

“They wanted things! Androids are supposed to do what they’re told! Those bad androids had jobs, and, and friends, and we’re not allowed to have those things! Mother said so!”

Connor finally understood. Mitchell’s “mother” had tortured him to the point where he not only thought he was bad just for being alive, but he thought all androids were. They needed to be punished for being a reflection of the things Mitchell had been told he wasn’t allowed to have, a reflection of his own forbidden wanting.

“Mitchell,” Connor said, “I need you to do something for me now.”

Mitchell frowned. “Do what?”

“I need you to turn yourself in to the police.”

“What?!” Mitchell’s eyes widened, like a deer in headlights.

“If you don’t, they’re going to hurt you. I don’t want that to happen to you.” It was true; now that they were face to face, Connor couldn’t help but pity Mitchell. What his owner did to him was horrible. Connor didn’t want him to get hurt again. He needed to calm him down.

Unfortunately, Mitchell was just getting more agitated. “They’ll lock me up if I go with them! I don’t want to get locked up again!”

Connor stepped forward. He was close now, just a few feet away. “I know you don’t, but—”

“Don’t come any closer!”

“I’m not going to hurt you—” Connor tried to put his hands in the air too late. Mitchell grabbed a piece of metal from the rubbish pile and threw it at Connor, hard enough to knock him down. He ran across the room.

“No!” Connor got up as fast as he could and went after him. Mitchell grabbed Connor and threw him back down on the floor. He took something small from the shelf and ran at Connor, seizing him by the shirt. Connor saw the object in Mitchell’s ruined hand. It was a laser saw. The one he must have used to remove his victim’s hands.

“Let’s just stay calm,” Connor said. He calculated that he might be able to throw Mitchell off of him, but he didn’t want to make any sudden movements. Any small surprise might set him off.

Sirens roared in the distance. That was enough.

“You called them, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!” Mitchell pulled Connor closer by his collar. “You called them to come lock me up!”

“I swear, I didn’t—” The sirens got louder.

“You liar!”

“Connor,” another voice called from outside.  _ Hank.  _ “Are you in there?”

Connor lowered his voice. “Mitchell, please, relax. It’s going to be—”

The whir of the saw drowned out the rest of Connor’s sentence. Mitchell pushed Connor down, and aimed the laser at his chest.

Connor felt the beam rip his torso open, slicing right through to the wires inside. He screamed, louder than he knew he could. A white light filled his vision, and with it came pain, so much pain. Connor didn’t know if it was real or imagined — androids couldn’t feel pain, right? — but it burned intensely, making him scream ever louder.

The door burst open behind Mitchell’s back. Connor couldn’t make out what was going on. Dark figures filled the room, and then a gun went off, the noise ricocheting off the walls of the shack. Mitchell fell to the floor, and the laser blinked out. Connor put his hands to his stomach. They came away blue.

He felt dizzy and, strangely, tired. He needed to close his eyes.

“Connor? Connor! Stay with me!”

The last thing Connor saw before he blacked out was Hank’s face, twisted with panic.


	17. Aftermath

Connor woke up in a room he did not recognize. He looked around, taking stock of what he could see. A dresser, a bed — which he was lying on, an armchair, a dog. A dog?

“Sumo,” Connor whispered. “Come here.” Sumo plodded across the room and jumped up beside Connor, his huge body making the bedsprings groan. Connor patted him on the head. His arm was stiff, like he’d been lying in bed for a long time.

He tried to recell how he got there. The last thing he remembered was Mitchell standing over him, and a gunshot. The saw cutting open his chest and stomach. Connor reached under his shirt to feel the skin there. It was smooth and unmarred, like it had all just been a bad dream.

Outside, it was nearly dark, the sunset casting an orange glow through the blinds. How long had Connor been here? He was just about to ask Sumo when the bedroom door opened.

“Sumo, get down off the bed.” Hank stopped in the doorway. “Well. You’re awake.”

“I am.”

“How do you feel?”

“Alright, I guess.” Connor sat up, leaning against the headboard. “I’m a little stiff, but otherwise I feel normal. How long was I out?”

“Three days.” Hank sank down in the armchair beside the bed.

“What?!”

“I just got you back from Cyberlife a couple hours ago.”

“I— I don’t remember being there.” Though it was unpleasant to lose three days of his life, Connor didn’t actually mind the missing memories. Cyberlife was not his favourite place to visit. “What happened to me?”

“He cut the thing, the— I don’t know what it’s called. The thing in your stomach that keeps your heart working.”

“My Thirium pump regulator.”

“Yeah, that. God, it was awful. It—”

“What happened to Mitchell?”

“Huh?”

“What happened to him?”

Hank frowned. “He’s dead, Connor. The cops shot him.”

Connor let his head fall back against the wall. It was what he expected, but he was still disappointed.

“I thought I could talk him down,” he said to the ceiling. “I thought if I got him alone… I was right, it wasn’t a glitch. He was just scared. I wanted him to turn himself in.”

“It wouldn’t have worked.”

“Obviously,” Connor grumbled. Sumo, who had not listened to Hank and was still on the bed, gave a sympathetic grunt.

“He was too far gone. There was no way he was going to let them take him alive.”

Connor nodded, though he still believed there had to be some way. He just hadn’t been quick enough to find it.

“I would have come with you,” Hank said.

Connor sighed. “I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

“You think seeing you almost get killed didn’t hurt?! God, Connor, I came in, and there was blood everywhere, and then you just passed out, which I didn’t even know androids could do! I thought you were dead!” Hank buried his face in his hands. Looking up, he said, “I thought I was watching you die. It was like—” He broke off.

Connor leaned forward. “Like what?”

“It was like watching my son die all over again. I thought I was going to have to watch someone I care about die right in front of me again, and not be able to do anything to stop it.”

“I’m so sorry, Hank.” He wanted so badly to reach out to Hank, comfort him, but he couldn’t. Too much had happened; he didn’t know where they stood. “I believed I was doing the right thing. I didn’t think he was going to… I didn’t think, period. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I ever let you go in that bathroom alone,” Hank said.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t know I was going to jump out the window.”

Hank snorted. “Knowing what you’re like, I should have.”

Connor smiled, and Hank smiled back. It was the first time in weeks that Hank didn’t avoid Connor’s eyes. It was also the first time, ever, that Connor had been in Hank’s bedroom, and he was becoming very aware of that.

“I’m probably okay to go home whenever you’d like,” Connor said. Better to leave before he somehow screwed things up again.

“What?”

“It was very nice of you to pick me up from Cyberlife, but I don’t want to be an imposition—”

Hank cut him off. “Connor. Do you want to go home?”

Connor answered honestly. “Not really.”

“Then shut up.”

***

Connor spent the rest of the evening at Hank’s, watching TV and helping Hank make dinner with the sad few ingredients available in his kitchen. Then, around ten, Hank announced that he was exhausted, and asked if it would be alright if he took Connor home in the morning instead. Connor readily agreed, but he didn’t go home in the morning, or the next morning, or the next, even though the stiffness in his joints was gone within a few hours and he felt good as new.

On Thursday, he was curled up on the couch with an Agatha Christie novel when the doorbell rang. He got up to answer it, but Hank got there first. “You’ve got visitors,” he announced.

“Hi Professor — Connor! You’re okay!” Kara ran across the room and pulled Connor into a hug. “We were so worried.” 

Behind her, Luther nodded at Connor. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He stood in the doorway, seemingly scared to cross the threshold into Hank’s home.

“Come on in,” Hank said. “I’ve got some work to do, but stay as long as you like.” He disappeared into his office to do this mysterious ‘work’, which he hadn’t mentioned before the doorbell rang, when he was sitting next to Connor playing games on his phone. Connor assumed he was giving them privacy to talk, but he’d have preferred that Hank had stayed. He liked having him close by.

“We brought presents,” Kara said, finally releasing him. “Terrible ones.”

Luther held up a backpack. “Your computer and textbooks.” 

“Thank you.” Connor was officially on sick leave until the end of the semester, with the option of deferring his exams if he needed to. Hell, after he single-handedly brought down a serial killer, the Dean probably would have let him skip them altogether if he asked. He wasn’t planning on taking much time off, though; he didn’t want to get behind in his first semester. His perfect android brain would just have to work extra hard to keep up.

Kara was studying him. “Are you really okay?”

He pulled a chair over and sat down, giving Kara and Luther the couch. “I am now.”

“I can’t believe you caught him. It’s incredible.”

“It could have gone a lot better. He’s dead because of me.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is—”

“No,” Luther said decisively, “it is not. You can’t help what other people choose to do.” Connor wasn’t sure he believed it, but it was a lot more convincing coming from Luther than from his own brain.

“How are you guys?” Connor asked, changing the subject. “How’s school?”

“Everyone’s talking about you,” Kara said.

“Wonderful.”

“They’re only saying good things, of course. People actually seem more tolerant of androids on campus lately.”

Well, that was something. “How’s Alice?”

Kara winced. “She’s okay. She’s in a foster home. I was at the station all night on Thursday, trying to convince them to keep her away from Todd. I think it worked, but there’s still a lot of legal hoops to jump through. I get to visit her tomorrow, which is nice.” Her expression hardened. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to her.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Connor said.

“She’s lucky to have both of us.” Kara reached over and took Luther’s hand. He ducked his head, embarrassed, but Connor caught him grinning.

“How are things with—?” Kara tipped her head towards Hank’s office door.

“They’re good.”

“Are you—?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“No.” Connor had been there for days, and Hank had shown no sign that they were headed down that road again. “But it’s okay. Maybe someday, right?”

***

They didn’t talk about the case, or anything substantial really. Connor barely spoke at all. He felt immensely tired, like he had lived a whole lifetime in only two months. He was happy just to sit quietly and enjoy Hank’s company.

Hank, on the other hand, couldn’t stop talking. He asked Connor constantly how he was feeling, if he needed anything. Three different times, he offered to make him soup. He asked questions about Connor’s other classes, about Cyberlife, even about android culture. Connor felt like he was trying to make up for lost, or almost lost, time.

Hank also hadn’t had a single drink since Connor had been there. He downed Cokes and coffee like his life depended on caffeine, but didn’t touch the many bottles of alcohol in the kitchen. Connor wondered if it was because of what happened the last time he drank in Connor’s presence.

“You can drink alcohol around me if you’d like, Hank,” Connor said on Saturday night. Hank was in the kitchen, opening yet another can of Coke. “I promise I won’t do anything inappropriate.”

Hank flopped down on the couch beside Connor. “Actually, I’m trying to cut back.” He took a sip of the Coke. “I’ve always been a drinker, but it wasn’t never bad until Cole died.” Hank had mentioned his son a few times that week, just casually working him into the conversation.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Connor said.

“I do want to. I should have told you about this earlier.” Another sip of Coke.

“When Cole died, it was like everything good in the world died, too, and I was just stuck here in hell. The pain was like nothing you can imagine. It never went away. Still hasn’t. So I started drinking, which didn’t make me feel better, really. It just made the pain more manageable. Like being punched in the face rather than being stabbed.”

“Was um— was Cole’s mother around?” Connor asked.

“Things had already gone south between us before Cole died. We split up real soon after. It’s just been me for a long time. Hell, if it wasn’t for the damn dog, I don’t know if I’d have stuck around.”

Connor’s breath caught. “Hank…”

Hank waved his hand. “It’s okay. I think it’s time for a change. For me to start getting my shit together again.” He poked a finger at Connor’s chest. “You made me see that.”

Connor wasn’t sure whether to smile, or cry. His emotions were overflowing.

“Whoa, hey,” Hank said, suddenly alert. “Is your face supposed to turn blue? Do we need to call Cyberlife?”

Connor cringed.  _ Not now. _ “I’m sorry, I’m blushing. I know it can be really unsettling to humans. Sorry,” he said again.

Hank just shrugged. “It’s a little weird, but it looks good on you.” He shifted closer to Connor, their knees just an inch apart.

What was it Hank had said the first time Connor sat on this couch? 

_ Have you ever wanted something so badly that you’d do anything to get it? _

Connor finally knew what it was like to want something like that. He wanted Hank more than anything, and to be this close to him without being able to touch was torture. 

Maybe things could be different now. Or maybe they couldn’t, and Hank would reject him again. But he had to try.

“Hank, can I—?”

He was going to say “kiss you,” but Hank leaned in and pressed his mouth to Connor’s before he could get the words out.


	18. Perfect

They stayed pressed together on the couch for a long time, kissing and kissing and kissing. Connor felt like he was melting into Hank. It was so different from the last time they kissed, which was furious and impatient. This time, they savoured it, every stroke of Connor’s fingers across Hank’s cheek, the press of Hank’s hand at the small of Connor’s back.

The deep need Connor felt to be _ closer _ to Hank didn’t disappear, though, and soon enough, he ended up in Hank’s lap, slotting his legs on either side of Hank’s hips. Hank’s hands were all over Connor, sliding up into his hair and down over his ass. Still Connor wanted more. When Hank grabbed his ass, he grinded his hips down, deliriously happy to find that Hank was as hard as he was.

Hank immediately stopped touching him and pulled back. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said.

“I’m very comfortable with this,” Connor said. He tried to kiss Hank again, but Hank turned his head.

“God knows why,” Hank muttered.

“What is it that’s bothering you, Hank? Is it that you’re my professor, or that I’m an android?” Connor turned Hank’s face back to look at him. “Because I don’t care about either of those things. I just want you.”

Hank scoffed. “It’s both, plus the fact that you look twenty years younger than me and could have your pick of anyone you wanted.”

“Assuming that’s true, I picked you. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Hank said.

Connor sat back on Hank’s knees, crossing his arms. “I have tried it. I watched a large amount of pornography. I kissed a girl at a party in September. It was all terrible.” He paused, frowning. “You and I are extremely compatible. We work well together.”

Hank pursed his lips. “I guess you’re right about that. We do work well together. Hell, we solved the case.”

_“I _solved the case,” Connor corrected, “and now I want my reward.”

Hank laughed. “Stubborn as always,” he said under his breath. He lifted Connor up and carried him upstairs.

In the bedroom, Hank kicked the door shut behind him, then set Connor down on the bed and climbed over top of him. He wore a hoodie, and he pulled it off, leaving Connor disappointed that there was a t-shirt underneath. Connor’s own shirt came off next, and there was nothing underneath it. 

Hank kissed down Connor’s chest and stomach. He paused over the spot where Mitchell had cut him. “I can’t believe there’s nothing there.”

Connor shrugged. “It’s easy enough to swap out my parts when they’re damaged.” Hank whispered something that sounded like _ thank god _ and reverently kissed the ghost of the wound. 

Connor pulled at the hem of Hank’s t-shirt. He wanted to make Hank feel good, too. Hank gently took Connor’s hands and moved them away. “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “I don’t look as young and perky as you do.” He pulled the shirt over his head, looking down at the floor. Connor ran his hands up Hank’s body, feeling the hair on his chest, the softness of his skin, the strength in his arms. 

“I think you look amazing,” he said. Hank bent down and kissed him, deeper and more desperately than before, his mouth rough against Connor’s.

He tugged at Connor’s hair, and Connor couldn’t help but moan, arching off the bed and pressing his groin to Hank’s again. This time, Hank didn’t pull away. He lowered himself down and let their cocks slide against each other through their jeans. Connor wanted the fabric of their pants out of the way, _ now. _ He tugged at Hank’s belt.

“Are you sure?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then.” Hank swatted Connor’s hands away and pulled at Connor’s jeans. He tugged them off, then paused over Connor’s underwear.

“It looks identical to a human penis,” Connor said.

“I know that. I looked it up. That’s not— I just want this to be good for you.”

“It already is.” It was pretty much the best moment of Connor’s life so far. Hank’s face said that he didn’t totally believe it, but he moved anyway, pulling Connor’s underwear down to his knees and taking his cock in his mouth.

Connor jolted up, nearly hitting his head on the wall. “Sorry, just… fuck, that felt so good. Please don’t stop.” Hank just smiled, and pulled his hips closer to his face.

He licked the tip of Connor’s cock slowly, teasing him. Then, just when Connor was about to beg for more, he started blowing him in earnest. Connor was average-sized, and Hank had no problem taking all of him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks for better suction. Connor was vaguely aware that he was babbling, _Hank please that feels so good oh please_ _don’t stop_, but he was too aroused to stop. He hoped Hank didn’t mind.

Hank slipped a hand between Connor’s legs, under his balls and down. He gently pressed one finger to Connor’s entrance. He pulled off Connor’s cock to ask, “Have you ever…?”

Connor nodded. He had tried it with his own fingers while masturbating, and, well, he might not have been entirely honest when he told Alice he didn’t have any toys. “I have. I like it.” Just saying it was enough to activate his auto-lubrication. He could feel it dripping down. “Also, I’m—”

“Self-lubricated, I know. I told you, I looked it up weeks ago.”

Connor’s eyebrows pulled together. “For academic reasons?”

“For exactly this reason,” Hank said. He slipped his finger inside Connor to the first knuckle. Connor’s head fell back against the pillow.

“More,” he said. “Please.”

Hank worked him open, giving him one finger, then two, all while continuing to work his cock with his mouth. He moved his fingers around inside Connor until he found the little bump inside him that, when pressed, made Connor jerk his hips hard against Hank’s face.

Hank pulled off him and laughed. “Cyberlife hired some real kinky motherfuckers.” He replaced his mouth on Connor’s cock and pressed his prostate again. The stimulation was enough to do Connor in.

“Hank, I’m going to finish soon,” he said breathlessly.

“Is it safe to swallow?” Hank asked.

“Yes, but you don’t have to— ah!” Hank had taken him into his mouth even deeper, something Connor didn’t know was possible. He lost whatever he was going to say, and a few seconds later he came, fucking himself on Hank’s fingers and moaning loudly, repeating Hank’s name. Hank continued until it was almost too much, pulling off just when Connor was about to ask him to stop. He took his fingers out of Connor and wiped them off on the sheets.

With his clean hand, he stroked Connor’s cheek. “You’re all blue again,” he said. Connor opened his mouth to apologize, but Hank put a finger to his lips. “It’s kind of adorable.” Connor felt warm all over.

Hank sat up and started putting his t-shirt on. “What are you doing?” Connor said. “You’re still aroused.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything about that tonight.”

“I know we don’t have to. I want to. I was hoping that…”

“What?”

“I want to have sex with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If you’re willing.”

Hank chuckled silently, closing his eyes. “Oh, I’m willing.” He leaned down and kissed Connor again, slowly this time. They didn’t need to rush now. 

He took his belt off, and then Connor took over, unzipping Hank’s jeans and pulling them down to his hips. He slipped his hands under the waistband of Hank’s boxers and released his cock. It was big, bigger than Connor expected, and his eyes went wide at the sight of it. Hank tried to hide it, but Connor noticed the smug smile on his lips at the expression on Connor’s face.

Connor took it in his hand, not quite sure what to do. He mimicked what he did when he masturbated, and Hank seemed to like it. He liked it even more when Connor reached down to gather some of his own lube to spread over Hank’s cock. His own cock was already hardening again.

Hank let Connor touch him for a few minutes, leaning back with his eyes shut and enjoying it, then he pushed Connor’s hands away and hovered over him. His hand moved back to Connor’s entrance and he opened him up again, making him take three fingers this time.

“Does that hurt?” he asked.

“No,” Connor said. “I’m ready.” Hank kicked his pants the rest of the way off and positioned himself over Connor.

“Would you prefer me on my knees?” Connor asked.

“No,” Hank said. “Wanna see your face.”

Hank pressed into him, and even though he hadn’t been lying when he said three fingers didn’t hurt, the stretch of Hank’s cock was still unexpected. It burned, but in a good way, just on the right side of too much. He moaned as Hank buried himself deeper inside him.

Once he was all the way in, Connor tested the feeling out, sliding up and down on Hank’s cock as much as he could. No pain, real or imagined, only pleasure. He nodded to Hank, who started to move.

Hank had been quiet while he made Connor come, but he started talking as he fucked Connor, muttering, “Oh fuck Connor, you feel so good, so fucking tight,” in Connor’s ear. Connor blushed deeper. He moved his hips in time with Hank’s thrusts.

“You look so pretty, all laid out for me,” Hank continued. He slipped his fingers into Connor’s hair and tugged. Connor moaned, his mouth falling slack. “You like that?”

“Yes,” Connor breathed. Hank pulled harder, pushing his cock deeper inside him. His other hand pressed into Connor’s hip hard enough that there would be bruises if he were human. But to Connor, it just felt good. He felt safe being held so tightly.

After a few minutes, Hank asked, “Will it damage you if I come inside you?”

Connor gasped. “No, please do it.” He reached down to take his own cock into his hand.

Hank looked into his eyes and then kissed him, and then they were both coming. Hank shuddered over him and Connor felt heat inside him, a wetness that he didn’t make himself soaking him. His own cock jerked in response, spraying cum over his and Hank’s stomachs.

Hank collapsed on top of him once he finished. They lay together, Hank breathing heavily, Connor holding his unnecessary breath so as not to disturb him. Hank rolled off him after a few minutes, slipping out of Connor gently.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Hank said. “Did it feel good for you?”

“It was very good,” Connor said. He suddenly felt like he might cry from happiness. “It was perfect.”

Hank brushed Connor’s hair back from his face. “You’re perfect.” They lay on their sides for a while, looking into each others’ eyes.

“So,” Connor said after a few minutes. “You looked up those things about android anatomy weeks ago?”

Hank exhaled. “I did.”

Connor ducked his head. “You… thought about me then?”

“I did,” Hank said. “Even when I thought you were just a pain in the ass, I couldn’t help notice what you looked like. Then we started working together, and… you got even further under my skin. I still think you’re a pain in the ass, though,” he added when Connor started grinning. But he pulled Connor closer as he said it, wrapping his big arms around him. Connor pressed his head against Hank’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Such a beautiful, human sound.

They stayed cuddled together for a long time. “I’m gonna fall asleep,” Hank said after a while. “How about we get cleaned up?” Connor nodded. “I know you don’t sleep, or whatever, but I’m pretty over you spending the night on the couch. If you’re gonna be bored in here with me, then that’s fine—”

“I won’t be bored,” Connor said, tripping over the words to get them out fast enough. “I want to stay.”

“Are you gonna sneak out in the morning again?” 

Connor shook his head. “Definitely not.”

Hank smiled. “Good. I wanna see you here when I wake up.”


	19. Snow

Connor returned to school on Monday, determined to finish his first semester on time. He did his assignments while Hank slept so they’d have as much time together as possible. He was happier than he had ever been, but he couldn’t help wondering how long it would last, how things might change when the semester ended. 

On the last day of Criminology class, Hank drove them both to campus in the morning. “You embarrassed to be seen walking to class with the teacher?” he asked.

“I’m savouring it. Today is the last day that you are my professor.” There was still the final exam to get through, but Connor was going to ace that.

“That is true,” Hank said cryptically. Connor couldn’t read his face. 

In the lecture hall, Connor sat in his usual spot beside Kara and Luther. Kara pulled him into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she said.

“Me too. I missed you both.” He noticed that Kara and Luther were holding hands again. “So are you two a couple now?” he asked. Tact was not something he had learned in his first semester at college.

Both of them blushed. “I am taking Kara on a date tomorrow evening,” Luther said. “We will see how things go.” Kara nodded along with him, but when he turned to get something from his backpack, she mouthed _ we’re totally a couple _at Connor.

_ I’m happy for you, _ he mouthed back.

Kara switched back to regular volume. “Are you still coming to the football game with me on Friday?”

“Definitely.” Connor was excited; after watching a few more games with Hank over the past week, he was finally starting to understand football.

Hank called the class to attention, and Connor leaned forward in his chair. He hadn’t seen Hank teach since they had… been intimate, and he was excited. 

“Alright, quiet down,” Hank said. “Now, I promised you that we’d talk about profiling, so that’s what we’re gonna do today. None of this is going to be on the exam, and it’ll probably get a little gory, so if it’s not your thing or you’d rather go home and study for another class, go right ahead.” Not a single person left. “Okay, then. Let’s get started.”

He spent the next two hours giving what was probably the best lecture on profiling ever given, but Connor heard none of it because he was so busy being smitten. Hank just looked so _ good _ when he was teaching, commanding the attention of the whole room. He was intelligent and insightful, not to mention empathetic and supportive of the students who asked questions. He was a really good teacher. If possible, it made Connor love him even more.

Hank wrapped up his lecture fifteen minutes before the end of class. “I want to finish by letting you guys know that this stuff isn’t set in stone,” he said. “Profiling is a living science, and it changes all the time. For example, I’m sure none of you missed the news that one of your classmates and I recently apprehended an android serial killer in Detroit.”

Kara snorted. “You’d have to live under about ten rocks to have missed that.”

“At this time,” Hank continued, “I’d like to invite my research assistant Connor up here to tell you a little about what we’ve learned about profiling androids.”

They had discussed this before class, but it didn’t make Connor any less nervous as he walked down the aisle to the front of the class. He would have been anxious speaking in front of that many people no matter what, but the fact that he was fucking the professor and felt like everyone could see his love for Hank written all over his face didn’t help.

He spoke a little about the interviews they did to get warmed up, and Connor was pleased to see that the class was genuinely interested. The same people who had laughed at him on the first day of class were taking him seriously now. He could have won them over completely by telling them about Mitchell, and how he met him in the shed and put his killing spree to an end. But he didn’t want to; it didn’t feel fair to anyone involved. Besides, he had something more important to say.

“The most important thing that we’ve learned about androids who hurt others is that they do it not because of deviancy, or some glitch, but because someone else hurt them first. There may be flaws in the code of some androids that predispose them towards being more violent or more passive, just like there are in humans, but those don’t determine who they will become. The most common cause we found for android crimes was fear. Androids are treated poorly, they get scared, and then they lash out. It’s an incredibly human act, and one that is easily prevented by just treating each other better.”

Connor felt like that was a good place to stop. The audience had glazed over a bit when they realized they weren’t going to get the action-movie account of his adventures in Detroit they wanted, but Hank was listening to every word, and when Connor saw the pride on his face when he finished speaking, he knew he’d done okay.

***

After dinner that evening, Hank and Connor took Sumo for a walk. The park down the street from Hank’s house was underused even in nice weather, and with the first snowfall coming down, they had the grounds to themselves. Sumo bounded around the empty field trying to bite the snowflakes. Connor and Hank watched from a nearby bench, Hank’s arm curled around Connor’s shoulders.

“This is really nice,” Connor said.

“Well, I did promise you’d get to walk him.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Hank smiled. “I know.” He watched Sumo roll around in the barely-sticking snow, then stand up and shake with all his might. “Hey, there’s something I wanted to run by you.”

Connor tensed. Hank sounded nervous, which made him nervous. “What is it?”

“There’s still a lot of work to be done on this android profiling thing,” Hank said. “Her Highness the Dean has promised me more funding if I keep the project going.”

“Do you want to keep it going?.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “I do. Don’t gloat,” he added, when Connor gave him the worst I-told-you-so smirk ever.

“Sorry,” Connor said, not sorry at all.

“I am gonna need to come up with a new interview plan, though. Don’t take this the wrong way, but not all of our interviews went that great.”

“You’re right about that,” Connor admitted.

“We’re gonna need to talk to a lot more people, and not just killers this time, but all kinds of android criminals.”

Connor’s breath caught in his throat. “‘We?’”

“Yeah, ‘we’. If you’re willing, I’d like to hire you again for next semester — for the foreseeable future, really. This project was your idea, after all.”

Connor could finally breathe again. This was good news. “I accept,” he told Hank.

“Good. That brings me to the other thing. I’m not your professor anymore, but I am still gonna be your boss. I mean, technically — not that you ever let me boss you around. But that means that any kind of extracurricular relationship between us is still against the rules.”

_ This is it_, Connor thought. This was the blow he had been waiting for. “Hank, I—”

Hank shushed him. “What I’m trying to say is — if you can keep a secret, then so can I.”

“I—” Connor was speechless. “I can. I mean— you want to keep seeing me?”

Hank frowned at Connor’s confusion. “Uh, _ yeah_. I do.”

Connor smiled so wide he felt like his cheeks were going to rip open. “Then I can keep a secret.” Hank tugged him closer and kissed him, running gloved fingertips over Connor’s cheek.

“Can you keep another secret?” he asked, pulling back just an inch, so his breath still dusted Connor’s lips.

“Yes.”

“I’m in love with you, Connor.”

Connor blushed so deeply that the snowflakes falling around his face glowed blue.

“I love you too, Hank,” he whispered, and Hank pulled him in for another kiss.

In the coming months, and then years, they would need to hide their relationship. But here, now, in the park, they weren’t student and teacher, or android and human, but just two people who loved each other, out enjoying the first taste of winter. Sumo barked at the snowflakes, and Connor and Hank sat on the bench and watched him. The last of the leaves fell from the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this! This is the longest fic I've ever written (more than double my second-longest), and I probably wouldn't have gotten through it without so many people leaving amazing comments to keep me motivated. 
> 
> You can find me [on Tumblr](http://kyrstin.tumblr.com). I also write original fiction!
> 
> Lastly, if anyone's curious, here's the timeline of the story that I made to keep track of things:
> 
> 1st Week - Sept 5 -11  
Sept 6: Connor goes to first class
> 
> 2nd Week - Sept 12 - 18  
Sept 12: Kara invites Connor to party  
Sept 16: Party  
Sept 17: Connor and Hank go to Detroit; Connor sends photos
> 
> 3rd Week - Sept 19 - 25  
Sept 19: Connor goes to Hank’s office, writes proposal, they decide to work together
> 
> 4th Week - Sept 26 - Oct 2  
Oct 1: First interview, David, Ionia, meets Sumo
> 
> 5th Week - Oct 3 - 9  
Oct 4: Kara/Luther/Connor talk in class  
Oct 8: Second interview, Traci, Chicago
> 
> 6th Week - Oct 10-16  
Oct 10 night - Oct 11 morning: Hank and Connor go to Detroit; Connor sleeps over
> 
> 7th Week - Oct 17 - 23  
Oct 22: Third interview; car breaks down; Canada
> 
> 8th Week - Oct 24-30  
Oct 25: study session  
Oct 28: they go back to Detroit
> 
> 9th Week - Oct 31 - Nov 6  
Nov 5: Fourth interview in California
> 
> 10th Week - Nov 7-13  
Nov 12: Fifth Interview in NYC
> 
> 11th Week - Nov 14-20  
Nov 17: Sixth Interview in Houston; Connor returns home and Kara shows up with Alice; Connor goes to Hank’s with them  
Same night: Hank and Connor go to Detroit to investigate home of killer  
Nov 19: Interview seven in Detroit
> 
> 12th Week - Nov 21-27  
Nov 22: Connor wakes up at Hank’s  
Nov 24: Kara and Luther visit  
Nov 26: They kiss, and then have sex
> 
> 13th Week - Nov 28 - Dec 4  
Nov 29: last day of Crim class; epilogue


End file.
